MEMOIRS 


GOETHE: 


WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 


3C*to=¥oi*fc  : 

IM  BLISHED  BY  COLLINS  &,  HANNAY,  230  PEARL-STREET- 
\  \T)  COLLINS  &  CO.  117  MAIDEN-LANE. 
J.  &  J  Harper,  Printers. 


1824 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/memoirsofgothe01goet 


PHEFAOjK, 


The  original  publication  from  which  the  following  translation 
is  executed,  is  entitled  Aus  Meinem  Leben,  which  may  be  trans- 
lated "  Extracts  from  my  Life."  There  is  also  a  second  title, 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  by  which  the  author  seems  to  intimate 
that  he  exhibits  the  poetry  as  well  as  the  prose  of  his  life,  and 
that  his  narrative,  which  has  all  the  air  of  romance,  possesses 
also  the  truth  of  history.  It  will  indeed  be  found  that  his 
juvenile  feelings  and  early  attachments  are  painted  in  an  ani- 
mated and  masterly  style, — that  the  characters  of  his  family 
and  friends  are  finely  drawn, — and  that  all  the  scenes  of  his 
youth, — all  his  literary  enterprises, — in  short,  all  the  transac- 
tions in  which  he  was  engaged  during  the  period  his  narrative 
embraces,  are  described  with  a  picturesque  effect,  which  renders 
the  story  unusually  interesting. 

That  Goethe  should,  at  his  advanced  age,  have  composed  so 
detailed  and  so  unreserved  an  account  of  what  he  did  and  felt  in 
early  life,  is  a  fact  which  may  excite  some  surprise.  In  expla- 
nation of  this,  it  will  be  proper  to  state,  that  the  original  was 
published  in  Germany,  in  compliance  with  the  solicitations  of 
the  author's  friends,  who  were  anxious  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances  which  had,  at  different  times,  given  rise 
to  Goethe's  writings.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  many  of 
the  most  important  productions  of  our  author's  powerful  and 
versatile  genius,  notwithstanding  the  permanent  interest  they 
possess,  were,  in  their  origin,  merely  occasional  works  ;  each 
having  been  indebted  for  its  birth  to  the  influence  of  some  oc- 
currence in  real  life,  the  external  circumstances  of  which  have 
served  to  unfold  the  inward  feelings  of  the  author,  or  the  philo- 
sophic and  religious  ideas  with  which  his  mind  happened  at  the 
time  to  be  imbued.  It  could  not  be  denied  that  the  explanation 
thus  demanded  was  calculated  to  form  a  valuable  addition  to 
works  of  the  kind  we  have  described.    Goethe  accordingly  ac- 


iv 


PKEFACE. 


ceded  to  the  wishes  of  his  friends,  and  proceeded  to  write  an 
account  of  his  life,  of  which  the  subjoined  translation  contains 
the  only  parts  which  have  as  yet  been  published  in  the  form  of 
Memoirs;  for  his  travels  in  Italy,  France,  &c.  are  not  biogra- 
phical narrative.  Of  the  work  here  presented  to  the  public  we 
may  be  permitted  to  state,  that  it  is  full  of  curious  facts  relative 
to  Goethe  and  the  German  writers  with  whom  he  has  associated 
and  corresponded,  and  that,  in  this  respect,  it  is  highly  interest- 
ing, inasmuch  as  it  shows  how  he  has  been  influenced  by  the 
authors  and  the  literature  of  his  country,  as  well  as  by  the 
events  and  opinions  of  his  time  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  how 
his  own  powerful  talents  have  reacted  on  the  literature  of  Ger- 
many, and  on  its  writers,  of  whom  he  may  now  be  regarded  as 
the  Prince  and  Patriarch. 

As  many  of  the  distinguished  individuals  alluded  to  in  the 
course  of  these  Memoirs  are  not  generally  known  in  this  coun- 
try, a  variety  of  explanatory  Biographical  Notices  are  given  as 
an  appendix  at  the  end  of  the  volume.  In  order  that  they  may 
be  readily  consulted,  they  are  arranged  alphabetically,  and  it  is 
presumed  that  these  illustrations  will  not  prove  unacceptable  to 
the  English  reader. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Birth  of  Goethe.  Description  of  his  Father's  House.  Recollée- 
tions  ol  Infancy.  Paternal  Instructions.  Puppets.  Rambles 
about  Frankfort.  The  Roeiner.  Frankfort  Artists.  Earthquake 
at  Lisbon.  Tremendous  Hail-storm.  Domestic  Education. 
First  Poetical  Attempts.  Contes  Bleus.  The  Small-pox.  Fa- 
mily Afflictions.  Character  of  Goethe's  Maternal  Grandfather. 
Early  Religious  Notions  Page  9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Opening  of  the  Seven  Years'  War.  Dissensions  between  the  Par- 
tisans of  Austria  and  Prussia.  Consequent  Disagreements  in  the 
Author's  Family.  Juvenile  Theatre.  Companions  in  Study. 
Calumny  respecting  the  Birth  of  Goethe's  Father.  Friends  of 
the  Family.  Favourite  Authors.  Disputes  occasioned  by  Klop- 
stock's  Messiah  22 

CHAPTER  HI. 

New  Years  Day.  The  French  enter  Frankfort.  The  Count  de 
Thorane.  His  Character.  Official  Decisions.  Encouragement 
of  the  Artists  of  Frankfort.  Goethe's  early  Attachment  to  the 
Fine  Arts.  Learns  the  French  Language.  Frequents  the  French 
Theatre  at  Frankfort.  His  young  Theatrical  Friend  De  Rônes. 
Remarks  on  the  French  Theatre.  Marshal  Broglie.  Battle  ol 
Bergen.  M.  de  Thorane  insulted  by  Goethe's  Father,  who  is 
saved  from  Imprisonment  by  the  intercession  of  an  Interpreter- 
Goethe's  First  Dramatic  Essay.  Criticism  of  De  Rônes.  De- 
parture of  M.  de  Thorane  31 

CHAPTER  IV. 

studies  in  Drawing,  Music,  English,  and  Hebrew.  History  of  Jo- 
seph. Fencing,  Riding,  Physics,  Mechanics,.  Notices  of  the 
.lews  of  Frankfort.  Burning  of  a  Book  by  the  Executioner.  In- 
tercourse with  Mechanics  and  Artists.  Sketches  of  the  Friends 
of  the  Family,  Olenschlager,  Reineck,  Malapart,  and  Huisgen. 
Vttainments  of  the  Schlossers  and  Griesbach      ....  48 

CHAPTER  Y. 

Misapplication  of  poetical  talents.  The  Author  becomes  intimate 
with  some  Youths  of  an  inferior  class.  His  Attachment  to  Mar- 
^aretr  Cousin  to  one  of  them,    Her  prudent  Advice,    She  sane- 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


tions  his  Affection.  Goethe  employed  to  write  Occasional  Poems; 
Plans  of  Life.  He  recommends  a  Youth  to  an  Official  Employ- 
ment. Margaret's  Industry.  Election  and  Coronation  of  Jo- 
seph II.  Illuminations.  Unfortunate  Termination  of  Goethe's 
Intimacy  with  Margaret  and  her  Relations   57 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Illness  of  the  Author.  His  Tutor.  Philosophical  Studies.  Walks 
in  the  vicinity  of  Frankfort.  Goethe's  passion  for  Solitude. 
Character  of  his  sister  Cornelia.  Her  attachment  to  a  young 
Englishman.  Goethe's  Predilection  for  Poetry.  Choice  of  a 
University.  Remarks  on  Gottingen  and  Leipsic.  Departure  for 
the  latter  University,  Becomes  a  Pupil  of  Boehme.  Gellert, 
Ernesti,  Morus.  Manners  at  Leipsic,  Halle,  and  Jena.  Goethe 
associates  with  Medical  Students.  Burns  his  Juvenile  Produc- 
tions  77 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Remarks  on  German  Literature — Liskow,  Rabener,  Gottsched, 
Breitinger.  The  Swiss  Writers — Lichtwer,  Gellert,  Lessing, 
Gunther.  Arrival  of  Schlosser  at  Leipsic.  Remarks  on  Haller, 
Rammler,  Lessing,  Wieland,  Klopstock,  Gessner.  The  Imitative 
Poets.  Modern  Philosophy.  Crusius,  Ernesti,  Zollikoffer, 
Spalding,  Michaelis,  Bengel,  Haller,  Unzer,  Zimmerman,  Moser, 
Putter,  &c.  Gleim's  War  Songs.  Rammler's  Poems.  Les- 
sing's  Minna  of  Barnhelm.  Goethe's  Amour  with  Annette.  Ori- 
gin of  his  Plays  of  A  Lovers  Caprices  and  the  Accomplices.  Re- 
flections on  Modes  of  Worship.  Gellert's  Moral  Philosophy. 
Character  of  Behrisch.    Knowledge  of  the  World    ...  94 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Progress  in  the  Fine  Arts.  Oeser.  On  Lessing's  Laocoon.  Visit 
to  the  Gallery  at  Dresden.  Weisse,  Schiebler,  Eschenburg,  Za- 
chary,  Winckelmann.  Tragical  Death  of  the  latter.  Illness. 
Langer's  Religious  Opinions.  Return  from  Leipsic.  Endea- 
vours of  a  Sectary  of  Count  Zinzendorf's  to  convert  Goethe. 
His  Chymical  Researches.  Extraordinary  Cure.  Burns  his 
Poems  composed  at  Leipsic.    Theological  Speculations    .  114 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Utility  of  Poetry.  Departure  for  Strasburg.  View  from  the  Steeple 
of  the  Cathedral.  Mode  of  Studying  the  Law  at  Strasburg. 
Goethe's  Medical  Studies.  Arrival  of  Marie  Antoinette,  after- 
ward Queen  of  France.  Singular  Coincidences.  Lerse.  Anec- 
dotes of  Strasburg  ;  of  a  Chevalier  de  St.  Louis.  Remarks  on 
the  Cathedral.  Goethe's  Embarrassment  between  the  two 
Daughters  of  his  Dancing-master  128 

CHAPTER  X. 

Situation  of  the  German  Poets — Hagedorn,  Brockes,  Haller,  Utz, 
Rabener.  Weisse,  Klopstock,  Gleim.    Unmeaning  Correspon- 


CONTENTS, 


vii 


dence  and  Mutual  Flattery.  Herder  ;  his  intimacy  with  Goethe  ; 
he  undergoes  an  Operation  ;  his  Character  ;  his  Opinions  on 
Language  and  Poetry.  Anecdotes.  Remarks  on  Gratitude  and 
Ingratitude.  Goetz  Von  Berlichingen  and  Faust.  The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield.  Excursion  to  Sessenheim.  Character  of  the  Curate, 
his  Wife,  and  Daughters.  Goethe's  Disguise.  His  attachment; 
to  Frederica,  one  of  the  Curate's  Daughters.  Personates  the 
Son  of  the  Innkeeper  at  Drusenheim.  Remarks  on  Story- 
telling  143 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Studies  resumed.  Clinical  Lectures.  Another  Visit  to  Sesenheim. 
Games  of  Forfeits.  Declaration  of  Love.  Excursions  with 
Frederica.  Goethe  maintains  a  Thesis  on  Church  History  ;  takes 
his  Degree.  Character  of  Schoepflin  ;  his  disciples  Koch  and 
Oberlin.  Remarks  on  the  French  Language  and  Literature — 
Voltaire,  Diderot.  The  French  Theatre — Lekain  ;  Aufresne  ; 
Rousseau's  Pygmalion.  French  Philosophy.  Système  de  la  Na- 
ture. Shakspeare.  Translations.  Excursions  to  Molsheim  and 
Ensisheim,  the  Ottilienberg,  &c.  Parting  with  Frederica. 
Vision.    Visit  to  the  Gallery  at  Manheim.    The  Laocoon  .  166 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Return  to  Frankfort.  Musical  Protege.  The  Schlossers.  Merk. 
Gothic  and  Grecian  Architecture.  Biblical  Studies.  Essay  on 
Toleration.  Herder's  Appointment.  Klopstock's  Republic  of 
Letters.  Melancholy.  Skating.  Residence  at  Wetzlar.  The 
Imperial  Chamber.  Acquaintance  with  the  Counts  Stolberg,  with 
Burger,  Voss,  Hcelty,  &c.  Independent  Character  of  the  Lite- 
rature of  the  Age.  Northern  and  Indian  Mythologies.  Theories 
of  the  Fine  Arts.  Origin  of  the  Sorrows  of  Werther.  Charac- 
ters introduced  in  that  Work.  Literary  Gazette  of  Frankfort  ; 
Hopfner,  Wenck.  Mutual  attachment  of  Geo.  Schlosser  and 
Cornelia  Goethe.    Departure  from  Wetzlar  192 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Visit  to  Madame  La  Roche.  Literary  Correspondence.  Leuch- 
senring.  Anecdotes  of  Count  Stadion.  Character  of  Madame 
La  Roche.  Literary  Parasites.  Studies  in  Painting.  Legal 
Pursuits.  The  German  Drama.  Publication  of  Goetz  Von  Ber- 
lichingen. Epistolary  Style  of  Composition.  Letters  of  Wer- 
ther. English  Poetry.  Effects  of  Shakspeare's  Hamlet.  Modes 
of  Suicide.  Death  of  Jerusalem.  Publication  of  Werther. 
Nicolai's  Joys  of  Werther.  Goethe's  Satirical  Reply.  Festival 
of  the  Fair.  Prologue  to  the  New  Vision  of  Bahrdt.  Justus 
Moeser  ;  his  Patriotic  Fancies  218 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Character  of  Lenz.    Wagner.    Klinger.    Lavater  ;  his  system  of 
Physiognomy  ;  his  visit  to  Frankfort  ;  comparison  of  his  Religious- 
Sentiments  with  those  of  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenbergr.  Base^ 


VIII 


CONTEXTS. 


dow.  His  Antitrinitarian  Zeal.  Goethe's  Journey  with  Lavatei 
and  Basedow.  Gleim  and  the  Jacobis.  Antiquities  of  Cologne. 
The  Manor  of  Jappach.  Spinoza's  Philosophy.  Pictures  by 
Weenix.  Dusseldorf  Gallery.  Sketch  of  a  Dramatic  Work  on 
the  History  of  Mahomet  247 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Decline  of  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg.  The  Moravians  ; 
Goethe's  Inclination  to  join  them  The  Pelagian  Heresy.  Story 
of  the  Wandering  Jew.  Prometheus.  Disputes  between  Les- 
sing  and  Jacobi.  M.  Von  Knebel.  Visits  to  the  Princes  of 
Weimar.  The  Gods,  the  Heroes,  and  Wieland.  Death  of  Made* 
moiselle  Von  Klettenberg.  Interview  with  Klopstock.  Zimmer- 
mann  ;  his  Vanity  ;  his  harsh  Treatment  of  his  Children  ^  his 
Philosophy.  Parasites.  Prospects  in  Life.  Singular  Amuse- 
ments.   Clavigo.    Symptoms  of  Matrimony  271 

POSTSCRIPT  292 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES  of  the  principal  Personages  men- 
tioned in  these  Memoirs   299 

Abbt.  Basedow.  Bengel.  Bode.  Bodmer.  Breitinger. 
Breitkopf.  Brockes.  Broglie.  Burger.  Canitz.  Cellarius. 
Clodius.  Clotz.  Creuz  Crusius.  Daries.  Drollinger.  Er- 
nesti.  Eschenburg.  Farrat.  Garve.  Gebler.  Gellert.  Gem- 
iningem  Gerstenberg.  Gessner.  Gleim.  Goetz.  Gotter. 
Gottsched.  Griesbach.  Grossman.  Gunther.  Hagedorn, 
Fred.  Hagedorn,  Christ.  Haller.  Hamann.  Heinse.  Her- 
der. Heyne.  Hoelty.  Hoffmannswaldau.  Huber.  Jacobi, 
John.  Jacobi,  Fred.  Jerusalem.  Jung-Stilling.  .  Kleist. 
Klopstock.  Krebel.  Kruger.  Langer.  Lavater.  Leisewitz. 
Lenz.  Lichtenberg.  Lichtwer.  Liskow.  Lohenstein.  Men- 
delssohn Merk.  Michaelis.  Miller.  Moeser.  Morgenstern. 
Morhef.  Moritz.  Morus.  Moser.  Nicolai.  Oeser.  Opitz. 
Orth.  Paracelsus  Bombast  Von  Hohenheim.  Pfeil.  Rabener. 
Rammler.  Sachs.  Schriebeler.  Schlegel.  Schlosser.  Spal- 
ding. Stolberg,  Christ.  Stolberg,  Fred.  Sulzer.  Thummel. 
Van  Helmont.  Valentine  Voss.  Weisse.  Wieland.  Winck- 
pJmann.    Zacharia.    Zimmermann.  Zinzendorf. 


* 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE* 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  on  the  28th  of  August,  1749,  exactly  at  noon,  that  Î 
Came  into  this  world,  at  Frankfort  on  the  Maine.  1  was  born 
under  fortunate  auspices  ;  the  sun  was  in  the  sign  of  the  Virgin 
at  the  utmost  degree  of  elevation.  The  aspects  of  Jupiter  and 
Venus  were  favourable  to  the  day.  Mercury  testified  no  signs 
of  hostility  ;  Saturn  and  Mars  were  neutral.  The  moon,  how- 
ever, then  near  the  full,  was  an  important  obstacle  ;  and  the  more 
so,  as  the  labour  which  attended  my  birth  coincided  with  the 
hour  of  her  new  phase.  She  retarded  my  entrance  into  the 
world  until  that  moment  had  elapsed.* 

This  favourable  aspect  of  the  stars,  of  which  I  afterward 
learned  all  the  importance,  was  no  doubt  the  cause  of  my  pre- 
servation ;  for^  owing  to  the  unskilfulness  of  the  midwife  I  was 
supposed  to  be  dead  at  the  instant  of  delivery  ;  nor  was  I  brought 
to  life  without  much  pains  and  exertion.  This  circumstance, 
which  excited  so  much  alarm  in  my  parents,  proved,  however, 
fortunate  for  my  fellow-citizens  ;  for  my  maternal  grandfather, 
John  Wolfgang  Textor,  who  was  pretor,  and  in  that  capacity  pre- 
sident of  the  senate  of  Frankfort,  took  that  opportunity  of  esta- 
blishing a  course  of  midwifery  ;t  to  which  institution  there  can  be 
no  doubt  but  that  many  of  the  inhabitants  born  since  my  nativity 
are  indebted  for  their  lives.  My  birth,  therefore,  was  a  benefit 
to  my  native  city. 

In  attempting  to  recall  to  mind  the  events  of  our  earliest  in- 
fancy, we  are  liable  to  confound  what  we  have  heard  from 
others  with  our  own  recollections;  but  among  the  particulars  I 
remember  of  my  infantine  days,  the  plan  of  our  habitation  is 
one  of  the  most  distinct.  Our  house,  composed  of  two  dwellings 
united,  bore  marks  of  the  ravages  of  time.  My  grandmother, 
my  father's  mother,  to  whom  it  belonged,  lived  in  it  with  us. 
"When  T  endeavour  to  recollect  this  excellent  grandmother,  my 
memory  represents  her  as  a  handsome,  sprightly,  sweet-tempered, 

";  Here  Goethe,  in  imitation  of  Sterne,  alludes  to  the  reveries  of  the  astrologers. 
Our  readers  are  aware  that,  according  to  their  system,  the  revolutions  and  move- 
ments of  the  stars  in  their  course  have  a  decisive  influence  over  the  birth  and  des- 
tiny of  every  individual.  To  determine  this  influence,  according  to  the  position 
Of  the  stars  at  the  moment  of  birth  is  what  they  call  drawing  the  horoscope. 

t  Sterne  likewise  attributes  the  institution  of  a  course  of  midwifery  to  tfo* 
'hfficult  birth  of  Iris  hero  Tristam  Shandy.  * 

B 


[0 


MEMOIRS  Of  GOETHE* 


kind  woman,  who  bestowed  great  attention  on  her  dre9s  and  ap- 
pearance. 

Behind  the  house,  and  particularly  from  the  upper  story,  there 
was  a  very  pleasant  prospect  of  a  great  extent  of  level  country, 
beyond  the  gardens  of  the  neighbourhood,  which  reached  in 
succession  as  far  as  the  gates  of  the  city.  But  although  we  en- 
joyed the  view  of  these  gardens,  the  situation  of  our  own  house 
deprived  it  of  a  similar  advantage,  for  which  the  balconies  at- 
tached to  the  windows  of  our  first  floor  were  but  a  poor  substi- 
tute. This  was  all  the  garden  we  had,  and  was  my  favourite 
retreat  in  childhood.  There  I  went  in  summer  to  learn  my 
lessons  ;  and  there  1  waited  impatiently  for  sunset,  to  see  the 
neighbours  walking  in  their  gardens,  cultivating  their  parterres, 
and  amusing  themselves  with  their  friends,  whilst  their  children 
gamboled  around  them.  Thus  I  early  imbibed  a  taste  for  solitude, 
which  afterward  acquired  the  strength  of  a  passion.  Although 
this  habit  of  serious  thought  and  meditation  was  far  from  accord- 
ing with  my  natural  disposition,  it  speedily  assumed  an  empire 
over  me  which  time  only  served  to  confirm. 

The  antiquity  of  our  dwelling,  its  situation  in  a  nook,  and  the 
darkness  which  reigned  in  many  parts  of  it,  were  well  adapted 
to  excite  the  sentiment  of  fear  in  juvenile  bosoms.  But  it  was 
then  a  maxim  in  education  not  to  allow  children  to  be  fearful  of 
invisible  objects  ;  they  were  to  be  early  familiarized  with  all  that 
terrifies  the  imagination,  whether  they  would  or  not.  We  were 
therefore  compelled  to  sleep  alone;  and  whenever  we  were  dis- 
covered attempting  to  take  refuge  with  the  servants,  under  the 
influence  of  fear,  my  father,  in  his  night-gown,  would  suddenly 
appear  in  our  way,  and  force  us  to  return  to  bed.  How  were  we 
to  surmount  our  weakness,  with  our  hearts  thus  hemmed  in  be- 
tween two  opposite  apprehensions  ?  My  mother,  with  her  never- 
failing  kindness,  tried  more  gentle  means.  An  ample  allowance 
of  peaches  was  promised  us  in  the  season,  on  condition  of  our 
passing  the  night  quietly.  Hope  thus  silenced  our  fears  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  parties  concerned. 

I  had  constantly  before  my  eyes,  at  home,  a  collection  of  views 
in  Rome,  with  which  my  father  had  ornamented  an  antechamber. 
These  engravings  were  by  one  of  the  predecessors  of  Piranesi, 
a  celebrated  engraver,  equally  skilful  in  the  representation  of 
architectural  subjects,  and  the  choice  of  fine  perspectives.  In 
these  I  daily  contemplated  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  the  Coliseum, 
the  square  and  church  of  St.  Peter,  the  interior  and  exterior 
of  that  grand  monument,  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo,  &c.  These 
objects  impressed  themselves  on  my  memory.  My  father,  who 
in  general  spoke  but  little  among  us,  nevertheless  condescended 
sometimes  to  describe  them.  He  was  enthusiastically  fond  of 
the  Italian  language,  and  of  every  thing  relating  to  Italy.  He 
had  brought  from  that  country  a  small  collection  of  marbles, 
and  specimens  of  natural  history,  which  he  occasionally  showed 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


n 


us.  Great  part  of  his  leisure  hours  was  devoted  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  his  travels  in  Italy  ;  a  work  on  which  he  bestowed  ex- 
traordinary pains  and  patience,  in  correcting  and  transcribing. 
In  this  undertaking  he  had  procured  the  assistance  of  an  old 
Italian  master,  of  a  most  lively  character,  named  Giovinazzi. 
This  old  man  was  also  an  agreeable  singer  :  my  mother  daily 
practised  music  with  him,  accompanying  him  on  the  harpsichord  : 
and  thus  1  soon  learned  the  Solitai*io  bosco  ombroso,  before  I 
could  understand  a  word  of  it. 

My  father  was  by  nature  particularly  partial  to  the  occupation 
of  teaching.  In  his  constant  seclusion  from  business,  he  was 
always  ready  to  impart  to  others  what  he  knew  himself.  He 
had  accordingly  given  my  mother,  in  the  early  years  of  their 
union,  lessons  in  systematic  writing,  on  the  harpsichord,  and  in 
singing.  He  had  also  taught  her  Italian,  which  language  she 
spoke  with  facility. 

In  our  hours  of  recreation  we  remained  in  our  grandmothers 
apartment,  where  we  CAuld  play  at  our  ease.  It  was  a  memora- 
ble day  for  us  when  firsFthis  good  grandmamma  treated  us  with  a 
sight  of  a  little  puppet-show  theatre.  Its  dumb  performers 
made  a  powerful  impression  on  me,  which  became  the  source 
of  far  deeper  impressions  than  I  felt  when  I  afterward  beheld, 
instead  of  this  automatic  theatre,  a  stage  peopled  with  living, 
moving,  and  speaking  beings.  The  emotions  caused  by  these 
dramatic  scenes  decided  the  destiny  of  my  life.  This  infantine 
good  fortune  was  the  last  for  which  we  were  indebted  to  our 
grandmother,  whom  we  soon  afterward  lost  ;  a  calamity  which 
occasioned  a  new  event  in  our  family.  My  father  was  fond  of 
building  ;  he  understood  architecture.  He  had  postponed  his 
plans  during  the  life  of  my  grandmother  ;  but  on  her  death  he 
had  the  house  repaired,  or  rather  rebuilt.  During  the  progress 
of  the  work  he  was  obliged  to  send  us,  though  against  his  incli- 
nation, to  boarding-schools  in  the  town.  Having  been  brought 
up  in  the  manners  of  a  well-bred  family,  although  with  strictness, 
I  found  myself  uncomfortably  situated  amidst  a  crowd  of  vulgar, 
rude  children,  from  whom  I  had  much  to  endure,  unable  as  I 
was  to  contend  with  them  on  equal  terms.  Fortunately,  we  were 
allowed  a  considerable  share  of  liberty,  of  which  I  availed  my- 
self with  a  few  chosen  companions  in  traversing  Frankfort,  its 
walks,  and  ramparts.  I  was  fond  of  roaming  about  the  old  town, 
in  its  narrow,  gloomy  streets,  and  viewing  its  antique  towers  and 
gates.  Already  had  the  sight  of  these  Gothic  buildings,  erected 
at  a  period  when  continual  troubles  and  alarms  gave  every  town 
the  appearance  of  a  fortress  and  a  place  of  refuge,  inspired  me 
with  a  desire  to  study  the  history  of  our  national  antiquities* 
My  favourite  walks  were  the  great  bridge  over  the  Maine,  which 
commands  a  delightful  view,  and  Saxenhausen.*    Nor  was  the 


?  A  promenade  near  Frankfort. 


19  MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 

Koëmerberg  less  attractive  to  us.  Our  excursions  about  the 
new  city  always  afforded  us  new  gratifications.  We  were  asto- 
nished to  find  in  a  single  town  a  great  number  of  small  towns, 
and  many  little  forts  in  a  single  fortress.  Such  was  to  us  the  as- 
pect of  all  those  cloistered  buildings,  surrounded  by  high  walls  ; 
and  all  those  walls  more  or  less  distinguished  by  their  own  ruins, 
which  had  in  past  times  enclosed  a  number  of  suburbs  now  con- 
founded with  the  town  itself.  Such  appeared  to  us  the  Nurem- 
berg Court,  the  quarters  of  Compostell,  Braunfels,  Stallburg,  and 
many  others.  Frankfort  was  not  then  embellished  with  any  monu- 
ment of  architectural  beauty  ;  but  every  thing  throughout  the 
city  recalled  to  mind  the  alarms  of  a  very  ancient  period.  The 
gates  and  towers  which  marked  the  boundaries  of  the  old  town, 
or  surrounded  the  new  one,  and  the  walls,  ramparts,  bridges,  and 
ditches  which  appeared  in  every  direction,  were  all  indica- 
tive of  that  age  of  war  and  commotion,  in  which  such  edifices 
were  required  for  the  general  safety  ;  and  every  thing  tended  to 
show  that  the  squares  and  streets,  even  o£the  most  recent  erec- 
tion, had  not  originated  in  any  regularplan.  The  ancient  chroni- 
cles and  old  wood-cuts,  such  as  the  siege  of  Frankfort  by  Grave, 
served  both  to  nourish  and  gratify  my  rising  taste  for  the  history 
of  those  remote  times.  I  discovered  a  new  pleasure  in  these 
pursuits  ;  I  delighted  in  studying  the  history  of  various  nations, 
without  looking  for  any  other  interest  than  that  of  the  variety  and 
truth  of  the  manners  described,  independently  of  all  considera- 
tions of  moral  importance  or  beauty.  One  of  our  most  amusing 
excursions  was  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  city,  which  we  did 
twice  a  year,  on  the  walls  themselves.  How  many  gardens, 
inner  courts,  and  back  buildings  we  viewed  in  the  course  of 
these  walks!  How  many  thousand  men  then  appeared  tous 
in  their  most  private  retreats  Î  From  the  pompously  embel- 
lished pleasure-grounds  of  the  wealthy,  to  the  humble  kitchen- 
garden  of  the  meanest  citizen,  nothing  escaped  our  eager  sight. 
The  whole  world  of  a  great  city  was  unfolded  to  our  eyes  ;  and 
our  infantine  curiosity  was  never  satiated  with  a  view  which  at 
every  step  still  seemed  to  vary,  and  to  afford  new  wonders.  The 
scene  which  Asmodeus  discovered  to  Cleophas,  when  he  exposed 
to  his  eyes  by  night  the  roofs  of  the  houses  of  Madrid,  could 
scarcely  have  competed,  in  point  of  interest  and  variety,  with 
that  which  we  enjoyed  in  broad  daylight.  The  keys  of  all  the 
towers,  gates,  and  stairs  of  this  promenade  were  in  the  hands  of 
the  jailer,  whose  good  will  we  did  not  forget  to  conciliate  by 
every  attention  on  our  part. 

A  monument  of  still  greater  interest,  and  the  sight  of  which 
was  more  instructive  to  us,  was  the  Hôtel  de  Ville,  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Roman  palace  (Roëmer  :)  we  were  fond  of 
wandering  in  its  vaulted  halls.  We  obtained  admission  to  the 
largest  of  these  halls,  admirable  in  its  simplicity  ;  that  in  which 
♦  he  senate  held  its  sittings.    It  was  wainscoted  half  way  up; 


MEMOIRS  Of  GOETHE. 


13 


the  upper  part  of  the  walls,  and  the  roof,  were  bare.  No  pic- 
tures or  statues  adorned  it  :  the  following  inscription,  placed  at 
the  top  of  the  middle  wall,  was  the  only  thing  that  attracted 
notice  :  "  One  man's  word  alone  signifies  nothing  ;  both  parties 
must  be  heard." 

After  we  gained  admission  to  the  Roëmer,  we  often  mingled 
in  the  crowd  which  thronged  to  the  burgomaster's  audience. 
But  what  interested  us  most  was  the  election  and  coronation 
of  the  emperor.  Every  thing  that  related  to  these  pompous 
ceremonies  was  an  object  of  our  curiosity.  Favoured  by  the 
protection  of  the  jailer,  we  were  permitted  to  ascend  the  stair- 
case reserved  for  the  head  of  the  empire.  This  staircase  was 
new,  very  handsome,  painted  in  fresco,  and  closed  by  a  lattice. 
W e  examined  with  great  respect  the  hall  in  which  the  election 
is  held,  decorated  with  purple  carpeting  and  gilt  pannels.  The 
upper  part  of  the  doors,  on  which  were  painted  children  or  genii 
clothed  in  the  imperial  ornaments,  and  carrying  in  their  hands 
the  insignia  of  the  empire,  particularly  attracted  our  attention. 
It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  we  were  removed  from  the  im- 
perial hall  into  which  we  once  succeeded  in  penetrating,  and 
where,  with  our  eyes  fixed  on  the  portraits  of  the  emperors,  we 
considered  any  person  who  would  relate  to  us  some  particulars 
of  their  history  as  a  real  friend. 

We  were  told  many  fabulous  stories  about  Charlemagne  ;  but 
Rodolph  of  Hapsburg,  who  by  his  masculine  firmness  found 
means  to  put  an  end  to  a  long  period  of  anarchy,  was  the  first 
of  these  potentates  in  whom  we  felt  any  historical  interest.  We 
were  told  of  the  golden  bull  of  Charles  IV.  and  his  criminal  code; 
and  this  prince  had  also  in  our  eyes  the  great  merit  of  having 
forgiven  the  inhabitants  of  Frankfort  their  attachment  to  his 
competitor  G  anther  of  Schwartzburg.  We  heard  Maximilian 
praised  for  his  humanity  and  condescension,  and  were  told  that 
it  had  been  predicted  to  him  that  he  would  be  the  last  emperor 
of  the  German  race  ;  a  prediction  accomplished,  after  his  death 
by  the  competition  for  the  throne  of  the  empire  between  Charles 
V.  King  of  Spain,  and  the  French  King  Francis  I.  It  was  ob- 
served to  us  that  a  similar  prophecy  or  rather  presage,  seemed 
to  threaten  us.  We  had  in  fact  an  opportunity  of  convincing 
ourselves  with  our  own  eyes,  that  there  was  but  one  place  left 
for  an  emperor's  portrait  and  this  accidental  circumstance  excited 
uneasiness  in  many  patriotic  minds. 

We  were  never  tired  of  hearing  the  accounts  of  the  corona- 
tions of  the  Emperors  Charles  VII.  and  Francis  1.  of  Lorraine  : 
that  of  Charles  VII.,  the  consequences  of  which  were  so  unfor- 
tunate, was  fresh  in  the  memory  of  the  women,  whom  that  em- 
peror's handsome  person  had  charmed.  The  other  sex  recol- 
lected with  still  greater  pleasure  the  coronation  of  Francis  of 
Lorraine,  embellished  by  the  beauty  of  the  Empress  Maria 


H 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


Theresa.  The  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  left  every  one  at 
leisure  to  praise  his  favourite  emperor. 

The  feasts  and  singular  ceremonies  of  Frankfort  fair  were 
likewise  no  inconsiderable  aliment  to  our  curiosity.  To  us  one 
of  the  principal  attractions  of  these  festivals  was  the  presence 
of  our  maternal  grandfather,  who,  as  pretor,  presided  over  the 
senate. 

At  length  our  house  was  rebuilt,  and  afforded  us  a  more  com- 
modious and  pleasanter  habitation. 

The  arrangement  of  ray  father's  library  was  our  first  occupa- 
tion. The  walls  of  his  study  were  furnished  with  the  best  works, 
bound  in  the  French  style.  He  had  the  finest  quarto  edi- 
tions of  the  writers  of  ancient  Rome,  from  the  Dutch  press. 
His  collection  of  books  on  Roman  antiquities,  and  of  choice 
works  on  jurisprudence,  was  no  less  valuable.  The  best  Italian 
poets  likewise  adorned  this  library.  My  father  had  a  predilec- 
tion altogether  peculiar  for  Tasso.*  The  most  esteemed  modern 
travels  likewise  formed  part  of  our  collection:  and  lastly,  it 
contained  the  necessary  aid  of  vocabularies  and  good  dictionaries 
in  various  languages.  My  father  took  great  pains  to  procure 
new  books,  which  he  had  bound,  and  then  classed  them  with 
great  precision.  His  choic  e  was  guided  by  the  recommendation 
of  good  literary  journals.  His  collection  of  dissertations  on 
points  of  jurisprudence  was  yearly  augmented  by  the  addition 
of  several  volumes.  He  had  gone  through  his  first  studies  at  the 
school  of  Coburg,  then  one  of  our  most  celebrated  establish- 
ments. There  he  had  attained  much  solid  learning;  he  was 
perfectly  acquainted  with  several  languages,  and  profoundly  versed 
in  the  acquirements  which  then  composed  a  good  education. 
On  leaving  the  college  at  Coburg  he  had  studied  civil  law  at 
Leipsic,  and  afterward  taken  his  degrees  at  Giessen.  His  disser- 
tation entitled  Electa  de  Additione  Hereditatis,  which  is  very  elabo- 
rately written,  had  gained  him  a  reputation  among  those  conver- 
sant with  the  subject. 

The  prints  which  had  formerly  been  dispersed  about  our  old 
habitation,  were  disposed  in  a  regular  manner  in  our  new  one. 
A  spare  apartment  near  the  study  was  decorated  with  them.  My 
father  collected  the  productions  of  living  masters,  in  preference 
to  old  works.  He  sometimes  expressed  his  opinion  on  this  sub- 
ject with  much  warmth.  The  appreciation  of  the  works  of  the 
old  masters  seemed  to  him  subject  to  many  prejudices.  In  his 
opinion  it  was  with  engravings  as  with  Rhenish  wine.  This 
wine  undoubtedly  improves  with  age  ;  yet  a  few  years  more  or 
îess  make  little  difference  in  its  quality.    Besides,  the  new  wine. 

*  This  predilection  of  Goethe's  father  for  Tasso  undoubtedly  contributed  to 
inspire  our  author  with  a  similar  partiality  for  that  great  poet,  whom  he  after- 
ward made  the  hero  of  one  of  his  ^most  celebrated  dramatic  pieces.  Thus  we 
ate  rhiefly  indebted  to  a  sentiment  of  filial  piety  for  this  wrork. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE  - 


16 


m  its  turn,  grows  old,  and  quite  as  good  as  the  former,  if  not 
better. 

According  to  these  notions,  he  for  several  years  employed 
some  artists  of  Frankfort  ;  such  as  Hirt,  an  able  landscape-painter, 
well-known  for  the  truth  of  his  touch,  particularly  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  animals  ;  Trauttmann,  a  rival  of  Rembrandt,  cele- 
brated for  his  effects  of  light,  and  pictures  of  conflagrations  ; 
Schutz,  celebrated,  like  Sachtleben,  for  his  fine  drawings  of  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine  ;  Yunker,  whose  pencil  immortalized  flowers 
and  fruits,  and  reproduced  the  tranquil  scenes  of  domestic  life, 
in  the  manner  of  the  Flemish  artists.  My  father's  intimacy  with 
a  justly  esteemed  artist  gave,  at  (his  period,  a  new  impulse  to  his 
taste  for  the  arts  of  design.  This  artist  was  Seekaz,  a  pupil  of 
Brinkmann,  a  painter  attached  to  the  court  of  Darmstadt, 

The  rest  of  the  house  was  no  less  carefully  disposed  according 
to  the  destination  of  its  various  parts  :  order  and  neatness  pre- 
vailed throughout  the  whole.  Several  causes,  and  particularly 
the  disposition  of  the  windows,  had  contributed  to  render  our 
former  dwelling  gloomy.  The  new  one  was  enlivened  by  abun- 
dance of  light,  assisted  by  large  looking-glasses.  My  father  also 
appeared  gay,  for  every  thing  went  on  according  to  his  wishes. 
His  good-humour  was  never  interrupted,  except  when  the  work- 
men were  deficient  in  diligence  and  punctuality.  We  could  not 
have  wished  for  a  more  happy  life.  Every  thing  abroad  and  at 
home  was  favourable  to  us.  But  this  mental  tranquillity,  so 
agreeable  to  our  childhood,  soon  received  a  severe  shock,  occa- 
sioned by  an  extraordinary  event.  On  the  1st  of  November, 
1755,  the  earthquake  of  Lisbon  took  place.  Terror  spread 
throughout  Europe,  just  when  people  were  becoming  accustomed 
to  the  sweets  of  peace  and  repose.  A  great  and  elegant  capi- 
tal, which  was  also  a  military  port  and  the  entrepot  of  an  immense 
trade,  suddenly  fell  a  victim  to  a  terrific  phenomenon.  The 
earth  trembles  and  gives  way  ;  the  sea  swells  and  overflows  ; 
ships  are  dashed  against  each  other  ;  houses  are  overthrown  ; 
churches  and  towers  fall  in  ruins  ;  the  king's  palace  is  partly 
engulphed  by  the  sea.  The  earth  seems  to  vomit  flames.  Fire 
and  smoke  ascend  in  all  directions  from  the  ruins.  Sixty  thou- 
sand people  who  the  moment  before  were  living  in  peace  and 
security,  perish  together  in  an  instant;  and  those  are  the  most 
fortunate  who  have  not  time  to  be  sensible  of  their  calamity. 
The  flames  continue  their  ravages  :  multitudes  of  wretches,  who 
were  previously  concealed  in  darkness,  or  bound  in  chains,  which 
this  dreadful  event  has  broken;  display  an  equally  horrible  fury. 
The  miserable  creatures  who  escape  the  public  disaster  fall  a 
prey  to  robbery,  murder,  and  every  crime.  Nature,  in  her  most 
savage  aspect,  seems  every  where  to  resume  and  give  full  scope 
to  an  unbounded  unrestricted  power. 

Signs  of  this  phenomenon  had  manifested  themselves  at  a  dis- 
tance, in  the  continental  countries,  before  they  received  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


dreadful  news,  in  various  places  commotions  slighter  or  stronger 
had  been  felt.  Many  springs,  and  particularly  those  most  cele- 
brated for  their  salubrity,  had  suddenly  been  dried  up.  These 
circumstances  rendered  the  effect  of  the  news  the  more  terrible, 
when  the  alarming  particulars  became  generally  known,  spread- 
ing as  they  did  with  great  rapidity.  This  unheard-of  misfortune 
became  the  text  of  serious  reflections  among  men  who  feared 
God  ;  of  meditations  among  philosophers,  and  of  sermons  on  the 
chastisements  inflicted  by  divine  vengeance  among  the  ministers 
of  religion.  The  general  attention  was  long  fixed  on  this  event  ; 
the  people  were  every  where  alarmed  by  this  distant  calamity, 
and  filled  with  apprehensions  for  themselves  and  those  who  were 
dear  to  them  ;  and  these  fears  were  still  increased  by  new  intel- 
ligence which  arrived  every  day  and  from  every  quarter,  and 
which  showed  to  how  great  a  distance  the  effects  of  this  terrible 
explosion  had  extended.  Never,  perhaps,  since  the  origin  of  the 
world,  did  the  demon  of  fear  spread  terror  throughout  it  with 
greater  rapidity  or  effect. 

Young  as  I  was,  the  accounts  which  1  incessantly  heard  crea- 
ted in  me  no  little  anxiety.  That  God,  the  creator  and  preserver 
of  heaven  and  earth,  whom  the  first  article  of  my  faith  repre- 
sented as  so  wise  and  beneficent,  appeared  to  me  to  have  deviated 
from  his  paternal  goodness  in  destroying  the  good  and  the  wicked 
together.  In  vain  did  my  young  mind  struggle  against  this  afflic- 
ting impression  ;  nor  was  it  to  be  expected  that  1  should  overcome 
it,  when  the  most  enlightened  men  were  unable  to  agree  as  to 
the  light  in  which  such  a  phenomenon  was  to  be  regarded.* 

The  following  summer  an  event  happened  much  nearer  to  us, 
Which  was  calculated  to  make  us  tremble  at  that  wrath  of  Gods 
of  which  the  Bible  so  often  speaks  :  this  was  a  tremendous  hail- 
storm, accompanied  by  thunder  and  lightning.  A  looking  glass, 
which  had  only  been  put  up  the  same  evening,  was  dashed 
to  pieces  ;  the  new  furniture  was  damaged,  and  many  handsome 
books  and  curiosities  were  destroyed.  The  terror  which  this 
accident  excited  in  us  children  was  increased  by  seeing  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  house,  except  my  father,  rush  out  of  the  house 
distractedly,  and  throw  themselves  on  their  knees  in  the  dark, 
in  hopes,  no  doubt,  of  appeasing  the  divine  wrath  by  frightful 
cries  and  lamentations. 

These  calamities  striking  as  they  were,  did  not  long  interrupt 
the  course  of  instructions  which  my  father  was  giving  us.  It  is 
the  general  wish  of  all  who  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  paternal 
character,  to  realize  for  their  children  the  plans  which  they  have 
not  been  able  to  accomplish  in  their  own  persons  :  they  almost 

*  Goethe  probably  alludes  to  the  poem  on  thejjcalamity  of  Lisbon,  and  the  dis- 
cussion to  which  the  event  and  the  poem  gave  rise  between  Voltaire  and  Rousseau, 
and  which  produced  a  rupture  between  those  two  great  men.  Rousseau  answered 
the  poet  by  his  eloquent  letter  on  Optimism,  to  which  Voltaire  replied  by  the 

romance  of  Candide. 


Memoirs  of  ouETiiE, 


17 


lancy  themselves  gifted  with  a  second  life  destined  to  turn  to 
account  all  the  experience  acquired  in  the  first.  My  father,  full 
of  confidence  in  the  variety  and  extent  of  his  knowledge,  certain 
of  his  perseverance,  and  distrusting  the  teachers  of  the  day,  pro- 
posed to  become  himself  the  preceptor  of  his  children,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  hours  devoted  to  private  masters.  A  sort  of 
pedagogic  dilettantism  had  already  begun  to  manifest  itself,  of 
which  the  pedantry  and  prejudices  of  those  who  then  conducted 
the  public  schools  were  the  principal  causes.  People  were  in 
hopes  of  succeeding  better  by  domestic  education,  without  con- 
sidering the  insufficiency  of  all  instruction  that  is  not  given  by 
professional  people. 

The  plan  of  life  which  my  father  had  laid  down  for  himself 
had  hitherto  succeeded  according  to  his  desires.  He  wished  me 
to  take  the  same  path,  but  was  willing  to  render  it  wider  and 
more  commodious.  He  had  a  high  opinion  of  my  natural  abili- 
ties, and  prized  them  the  more  on  account  of  his  own  deficiency 
in  this  respect.  For  his  own  attainments  he  was  indebted  to 
long  and  persevering  study,  and  indefatigable  labour.  He  often 
told  me  that  had  he  possessed  my  faculties  he  should  have  been 
quite  a  différent  man,  and  been  spared  much  fatigue. 

By  means  of  this  facility,  seconded  by  application,  I  profited 
by  my  father's  lessons  and  those  of  my  other  masters,  but  with- 
out laying  a  solid  foundation  of  learning  in  any  branch  of  study. 
I  was  disgusted  with  grammar,  which  appeared  to  me  a  mere 
code  of  arbitrary  laws.  The  multitude  of  exceptions  which  I 
was  compelled  to  cram  into  my  head,  in  opposition  to  all  these 
rules,  rendered  them,  in  my  opinion,  null  and  ridiculous.  Had  it 
not  been  for  poetry,  Ï  should  never  have  succeeded  in  the  study 
of  Latin  ;  but  the  harmony  of  verse,  sounding  agreeably  in  my 
ears,  proved  a  powerful  stimulus. 

1  comprehended  with  ease  the  turns  and  forms  peculiar  to  any 
idiom.  With  the  same  promptitude  I  formed  to  myself  a  clear 
idea  of  the  objects  presented  to  my  notice.  No  one  excelled  me 
in  rhetorical  exercises,  although  I  still  frequently  fell  into  gram- 
matical errors.  My  studies  of  this  kind  were,  nevertheless,  those 
with  which  my  father  was  best  satisfied.  He  often  rewarded 
me  by  gifts  of  no  inconsiderable  amount  for  a  child. 

He  taught  my  sister  Cornelia  Italian,  in  the  same  apartment 
in  which  I  had  to  study  Cellarius.  My  task  was  quickly  ended, 
after  which  3  remained  quietly  in  my  place,  laying  aside  my 
book  to  listen  to  the  Italian  lesson.  This  language  amused  me 
greatly  ;  I  looked  upon  it  as  Latin  in  masquerade. 

With  respect  to  memory  and  facility  of  conception,  1  possessed 
those  precocious  talents  for  which  many  children  have  been 
celebrated.  My  father  consequently  proposed  to  anticipate  the 
usual  time  of  academical  courses  in  my  favour.  At  a  very  early 
period,  he  used  to  take  pleasure  in  telling  me  that  I  was  to  study 
law  at  Leipsic,  which  university  was  his  favourite.   I  was  after- 


IS 


HEMOIRS   OF  GUEXliJ. 


ward  to  take  my  degrees  in  another  academy.  The  choice  Was 
indifferent  to  him,  with  the  exception  of  the  university  of  Got- 
tingen,  for  which  he  felt  an  aversion  that  Ï  could  never  discover 
the  cause  of.  He  included  in  the  plan  of  my  studies  a  residence 
at  Wctzlar,  and  at  Ratisbon.  I  was  to  finish  my  education  by 
visiting  Vienna  and  Italy.  Nevertheless  he  would  often  say  that 
I  must  see  Paris  first,  for  that  nothing  could  satisfy  a  traveller  on 
returning  from  Italy. 

At  my  age  these  prospects  of  travelling  were  extremely  agree- 
able, particularly  when  my  father  ended  his  discourse  with  anec- 
dotes relating  to  the  beauty  of  Italy,  and  with  descriptions  of 
Naples.  In  these  conversations  my  father's  habitual  gravity 
always  relaxed  ;  they  awakened  his  sensibility,  and  inspired  us 
with  a  passionate  desire  to  visit  that  earthly  paradise  ourselves. 

The  use  of  private  lessons  was  gradually  more  extensively 
adopted.  Other  children  in  the  neighbourhood  participated  in 
those  which  1  received.  From  this  common  instruction  I  de- 
rived little  benefit.  The  masters  proceeded  in  their  usual  rou- 
tine, and  the  stupidity  and  pei Terseness  of  my  companions  in 
study,  produced  nothing  but  trouble,  vexation,  and  confusion, 
in  the  hours  thus  devoted  to  superficial  learning.  The  abridged 
methods  by  which  instruction  is  facilitated,  and  varied  at  the 
same  time,  had  not  then  reached  us.  What  interest  could  we 
take  in  Cornelius  Nepos,  that  dry  author  to  children  ? — in  the 
lessons  on  the  New  Testament,  which  had  become  too  easy,  and 
almost  appeared  trivial  to  us,  familiarized  as  we  were  with  the 
book  by  means  of  our  religious  education  ?  Accordingly,  the 
reading  of  the  German  poets  excited  in  us  a  kind  of  rage  for 
rhymes  and  verses.  These  poetical  exercises  were  my  recrea- 
tion after  my  tedious  studies. 

On  Sundays  we  used  to  assemble,  my  companions  and  I,  to 
Communicate  our  essays  to  each  other.  But  1  was  soon  disqui- 
eted by  a  singular  apprehension.  My  own  poetical  lucubrations, 
of  course,  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  best  ;  but  1  soon 
remarked  that  my  companions,  who  often  brought  very  wretched 
compositions,  thought  no  less  highly  of  them  than  I  did  of  mine. 
Another  circumstance,  which  also  occupied  my  meditations,  was 
the  self-delusion  of  a  young  scholar  who  was  totally  incapable  of 
making  verses.  He  used  to  get  them  composed  by  his  master, 
and  it  is  no  wonder  they  seemed  to  him  excellent  :  but  he  would 
persuade  himself  at  last,  that  he  had  made  them  ;  and  although 
we  were  so  intimately  acquainted,  he  wished  to  make  me  believe 
it  likewise.  Struck  with  the  ridiculous  folly  of  this  conceit,  I 
began  to  fear  that  I  might  possibly  be  my  own  dupe  also,  and 
appear  to  him  as  foolish  as  he  did  in  my  eyes.  This  idea  ren- 
dered me  very  uneasy.  My  judgment  could  not  be  decided  by 
any  irrefragable  rule.  I  became  discouraged.  But  the  natural 
levity  of  my  age,  an  internal  consciousness,  and  the  praises  of 
my  masters  and  relations,  at  length  restored  my  confidence^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


19 


Î  pursued  my  studies  with  zeal.  Geography,  universal  histo- 
ry, and  mythology,  occupied  me  by  turns.  I  read  Ovid's  Me- 
tamorphoses with  avidity.  I  studied  the  first  book  with  an 
attention  altogether  peculiar.  My  youthful  head  was  filled 
with  a  multitude  of  marvellous  facts,  images,  and  events.  I  was 
seldom  idle,  and  1  employed  myself  only  in  fixing  and  combining 
in  my  mind  the  knowledge  I  had  acquired. 

The  study  of  these  antiquities  was  not  unattended  with  fa- 
tigue, nor  wholly  suitable  to  my  age.  A  book  which  produced 
à  much  better  effect  on  me  was  Fenelon's  Telemachus.  Not- 
withstanding the  imperfection  of  the  translation,  1  imbibed  from 
this  work  sentiments  of  pure  morality  and  piety.  In  Robinson 
Crusoe,  the  faithful  picture  of  the  situation  of  a  man  reduced 
to  lead  a  solitary  life  for  a  long  perio'd.  fixed  my  attention  with 
equal  force.  1  never  could  have  fancied  that  there  is  no  such 
place  as  the  Isle  of  Felsenburg.  j  found  in  Lord  Anson's  voy- 
ages the  merit  and  interest  of  truth  combined  with  all  the  charms 
of  the  marvellous,  such  as  they  might  have  been  invented  by 
the  most  fertile  imagination.  We  traversed,  in  idea,  the  whole 
world  with  that  great  seaman.  We  took  pleasure  in  tracing  out 
his  course  on  the  globe  with  the  finger.  But  1  had  soon  a  har- 
vest of  another  kind  in  hand. 

The  warehouse,  or  rather  manufactory  of  the  books  which 
afterward  became  so  celebrated,  under  the  title  of  Contes  Bleus, 
was  at  Frankfort.  As  there  was  an  immense  demand  for  these 
books,  they  were  printed  from  plates  which  were  preserved,  but 
on  very  bad  paper,  and  in  almost  illegible  characters.  It  was  a 
great  happiness  to  us  to  be  able  to  exchange  a  few  pieces  of  coin 
daily  at  a  book  stall  for  those  inestimable  relics  of  the  middle 
ages.  It  was,  however,  impossible  for  us  to  feel  their  actual  in- 
terest: but  that  did  not  prevent  our  being  delighted  with  the 
book  of  Facetiae,  the  Quatre-fils  Aimon,  the  Fair  Melusine,  the 
Fair  Maguelonne,  the  Emperor  Octavian,  Fortunatus,  and  the 
Wandering  Jew. 

Whilst  we  were  thus  devoting  the  spring  time  of  our  lives  to 
such  amusing  occupations,  we  were  suddenly  threatened  by  the 
approach  of  an  epidemic  distemper  :  it  was  the  small-pox.  Se- 
veral persons  who  had  been  inoculated  having  been  attacked  by 
this  dreadful  disorder,  people  still  hesitated  to  adopt  that  pre- 
ventive, and  the  disease  accordingly  ravaged  the  city.  I  was 
not  spared.  My  illness  was  long,  but  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
escape,  and  without  being  disfigured. 

This  illness  was  succeeded  by  another  of  a  different  descrip- 
tion. The  public  misfortunes,  which  had  made  a  strong  impres- 
sion upon  me,  and  the  accidents  to  which  I  had  myself  been  a 
victim,  strengthened  my  inclination  to  melancholy.  I  then  re- 
flected on  the  necessity  of  supporting  inevitable  evils  with  con- 
stancy, and  I  felt  myself  filled  with  ardent  admiration  of  those 
stoical  virtues,  which  the  precepts  of  Christian  resignation,  sci 


MEMOIRS  OV  GOETHE. 


conformable  to  the  lessons  of  the  Portico,  rendered  still  more 
admirable  in  my  eyes. 

This  period  of  sufferings  reminds  me  of  our  successive  losses- 
of  a  brother  and  several  sisters,  who  died  almost  in  infancy. 
At  length  the  eldest  of  my  sisters  and  myself  were  the  only  sur- 
vivors of  the  whole  family.  Our  attachment  to  each  other  was 
increased  by  this  circumstance. 

After  these  illnesses  other  vexatious  events  ensued,  which  we 
found  doubly  painful.  My  father,  who  seemed  to  have  limited 
himself  to  a  certain  fixed  period  for  the  completion  of  our  educa- 
tion, and  to  have  resolved  not  to  exceed  it,  exerted  himself  to  make 
us  regain  all  the  time  we  had  lost,  by  doubling  our  lessons.  I 
easily  acquitted  myself  of  this  new  task.  But  this  increase  of 
labour  retarded  the  developement  of  my  physical  and  moral 
faculties,  and  perhaps  even  forced  them  back  in  some  degree. 

From  the  tribulations  of  our  scholastic  life  we  often  took 
refuge  with  our  maternal  grandfather.  We  delighted  to  visit 
him  at  his  fine  garden,  which  was  abundantly  enriched  with 
flowers  and  fruit  trees,  some  of  the  spoils  of  which  we  were  al- 
lowed to  carry  off.  IVly  grandfather  devoted  all  the  leisure  that 
his  functions  allowed  him.  to  gardening.  This  venerable  old 
man  enjoyed  tranquillity  of  mind  in  the  highest  degree.  1  cannot 
recollect  a  single  instance  of  his  giving  way  to  anger  or  impa- 
tience. He  was  as  regular  in  his  attention  to  his  tulips,  hya- 
cinths, and  espaliers,  as  in  personally  superintending  the  regis- 
tration of  the  deliberations  and  acts  of  the  senate.  From  his 
countenance,  of  which  time  had  neither  impaired  the  serenity 
nor  the  expression  of  vigour,  he  might  have  been  taken  for  King 
Alcinoiis,  had  not  his  great  age  given  him  a  still  closer  resem- 
blance to  the  good  Laertes. 

We  likewise  passed  many  agreeable  hours  with  my  aunts,  the 
two  sisters  of  my  mother,  who  in  her  youth  often  amused  herself 
with  reading,  or  with  some  of  those  delicate  works  in  which 
ladies  employ  themselves.  The  elder  of  my  aunts  used  on  those 
occasions  to  take  us  out  walking  with  her,  or  to  some  entertain- 
ment. My  other  aunt  lived  in  a  very  retired  manner.  She  had 
a  fine  library.  At  her  house,  1  remember,  1  first  became  ac- 
quainted with  Homer.  It  was,  indeed,  only  in  a  prose  transla- 
tion, which  is  strangely  misplaced,  under  the  equally  misapplied 
title  of  The  Conquest  of  the  Trojan  empire,  in  a  collection  of 
travels,  published  by  Mr.  Loën  ;  to  this  work  were  added  some 
very  bad  engravings,  the  designs  of  which  remained  fixed  in  my 
memory,  and  long  served  to  remind  me  of  the  heroes  of  Greece 
and  Troy  under  sadly  deformed  features.  The  events  of  the 
Iliad  gave  me  inexpressible  pleasure.  I  discovered  but  one  fault 
in  the  poem,  that  of  telling  us  nothing  about  the  conquest  of 
Troy,  and  stopping  short  at  the  death  of  Hector.  My  uncle,  to 
whom  I  complained  of  this  disappointment,  gave  me  Virgil,  who 
fully  satisfied  my  curiosity. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE* 


21 


It  ts  unnecessary  to  mention,  that  a  complete  course  of  reli- 
gious instruction,  according  to  the  Protestant  church,  formed 
part  of  our  studies.  But  we  found  this  merely  a  dry  course  of 
morality.  No  one  thought  of  vivifying  our  souls,  hy  enabling 
us  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  religion.  None  of  these  lessons 
spoke  to  the  heart.  The  dryness  of  our  mode  of  worship 
estranged  many  persons  from  the  predominant  church.  Many 
sects  had  been  formed  under  (he  denominations  of  separatists, 
pietists,  hernhutters,  and  methodi?ts,  who  endeavoured  to  ap- 
proach, through  the  mediation  of  Christ,  nearer  to  the  Di- 
vinity than  they  considered  it  possible  to  do  by  adopting  the 
rites  instituted  for  public  worship. 

I  continually  heard  talk  of  these  various  opinions  :  every  one, 
whether  churchman  or  layman,  siding  with  one  party  or  other. 
The  dissenters  still  formed  V,e  minority.  These  discussions, 
nevertheless,  awakened  in  my  mind  sentiments  analogous  to 
theirs.  I  conceived  the  idea  of  immediate  communication  with 
the  great  God  of  Nature,  the  Creator  and  Preserver  of  heaven 
and  earth,  in  whose  infinite  goodness  1  had  forgotten  the  signs  of 
his  wrath.    The  method  I  adopted  was  somewhat  singular. 

My  attention  had  been  particularly  fixed  on  our  first  article 
of  faith.  God,  in  intimate  union  with  nature,  which  he  cherish- 
es as  his  work,  appeared  to  me  to  be  undoubtedly  the  same  God 
who  is  pleased  to  maintain  habitual  relations  with  man.  In  fact, 
why  should  not  this  Omnipotent  Being  interest  himself  in  our 
proceedings  as  well  as  in  the  motion  of  the  stars  which  regulates 
the  order  of  days  and  seasons,  as  well  as  in  the  care  of  plants 
and  animals  ?  Several  passages  of  the  gospel  contain  positive 
expressions  on  this  subject.  Being  unable  to  form  an  idea  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  I  sought  him  in  his  works,  and  resolved  to 
erect  an  altar  to  him,  after  the  manner  of  the  patriarchs.  Cer- 
tain productions  of  nature  were  to  represent  the  world,  and  a 
flame  was  to  arise,  figurative  of  the  human  soul  ascending 
towards  its  Creator.  I  therefore  chose  the  most  valuable  arti- 
cles in  the  collection  of  natural  curiosities  which  (  had  at  hand. 
The  difficulty  was  to  arrange  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  com- 
pose a  little  edifice.  My  father  had  a  handsome  music-desk  of 
red  lacquer,  adorned  with  golden  flowers,  in  form  of  a  four- 
sided  pyramid,  with  ledges  to  execute  quartettos.  This  desk 
had  not  been  used  for  some  time.  I  took  possession  of  it,  and 
laid  my  specimens  of  natural  history  upon  it  in  gradation,  some 
above  others,  in  regular  and  significant  order.  I  wished  to  offer 
my  first  act  of  adoration  at  sun  rise.  I  had  not  yet  determined 
on  the  manner  in  which  I  >houid  produce  the  symbolical  flame 
which  I  intended  at  the  same  time  to  emit  a  fragrant  odour.  At 
length  I  succeeded  in  securing  these  two  conditions  of  my  sacri- 
fice. I  had  in  my  possession  a  few  grains  of  incense.  If  they 
would  not  produce  a  flame,  they  might  at  least  give  light,  and 
spread  an  agreeable  perfume  in  burning.    This  mild  light,  shed 


3IEM0IRS  OF  GOETHE. 


by  burning  perfumes,  expressed  what  passes  in  our  minds  at 
such  a  moment,  even  more  perfectly  than  a  flame.  The  sun 
had  long  risen  above  the  horizon,  but  the  neighbouring  houses 
still  intercepted  his  rays.  At  length  he  rose  high  enough  to 
allow  me,  by  means  of  a  burning  glass,  to  light  my  grains  of  in- 
cense, scientifically  arranged  on  a  fine  porcelain  cup.  Every 
thing  succeeded  according  to  my  wishes.  My  piety  was  satis- 
tied.  My  altar  became  the  principal  ornament  of  the  apartment 
in  which  it  stood.  Others  perceived  in  it  nothing  but  a  collec- 
tion of  natural  curiosities,  distributed  with  regularity  and  ele- 
gance: I  alone  knew  its  real  intention.  I  wished  to  repeat  my  pious 
cëremony.  Unluckily,  when  the  sun  appeared  I  had  no  porce- 
lain cup  at  hand  ;  I  placed  my  grains  of  incense  on  the  top  of 
the  desk  :  I  lighted  them  ;  but  I  was  so  abs  .  d  in  my  contem- 
plations, that  I  did  not  perceive  the  mischiel  \> ...  .h  my  sacrifice 
had  done,  until  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  it.  The  grains  of  in- 
incense,  in  burning,  had  covered  the  fine  red  lacquer,  and  the 
gold  flowers,  with  black  spots  ;  as  if  the  evil  spirit,  driven  away 
by  my  prayers,  had  left  the  indelible  traces  of  his  feet  on  the 
desk.  The  young  pontiff  now  found  himself  in  sad  perplexity. 
He  succeeded  in  concealing  the  damage  by  means  of  his  pile  of 
natural  curiosities  ;  but  he  never  afterward  had  the  courage  to 
attempt  to  repeat  his  sacrifice,  and  he  thought  he  saw  in  this  ac- 
cident, a  warning  of  the  danger  of  attempting  to  approach  thn 
Deity  in  any  manner  whatsoever. 


CHAPTER  II. 

All  that  I  have  hitherto  related  belongs  to  that  auspicious 
period  when  we  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  a  long  peace.  This 
happiness  was  nowhere  more  sensibly  felt  than  in  those  cities, 
governed  by  their  own  laws,  which  were  large  enough  to  contain 
a  considerable  number  of  citizens,  and  were  sufficiently  well 
situated  to  enrich  themselves  by  commerce.  The  advantages 
enjoyed  by  strangers  and  citizens  in  such  places  are  reciprocal. 
The  magistrates  do  not  possess  very  extensive  powers  ;  and  this 
circumstance  qualifies  them  the  better  to  employ  their  industry 
for  the  public  good.  Their  external  relations  do  not  oblige 
them  to  enter  into  any  ruinous  enterprises  or  alliances. 

Thus,  during  my  childhood,  had  elapsed  a  series  of  years 
fraught  with  happiness  to  the  inhabitants  of  Frankfort  ;  but 
scarcely  had  I  entered  my  seventh  year,  on  the  28th  of  August, 
1 756,  when  that  war  broke  out,  which  became  so  celebrated 
throughout  the  whole  world.  This  event  had  a  great  influence 
over  ihe  next  seven  years  of  my  life.  Frederic  II.  king  of  Prus- 
sia, had  entered  Saxony,  at  the  head  of  60,000  men.  Instead 


TJEAIOIKS  OF  GOKTHE. 


of  sending  a  declaration  of  war  to  precede  him,  he  was  followed 
by  a  manifesto,  which  he  had  composed  himself,  as  is  well 
known,  explaining  the  reasons  which  had  induced  him  to  under- 
take this  extraordinary  invasion,  and  justifying  the  measure 
itself.  The  world,  which  he  thus  invited  to  become  not  only 
spectators  but  judges  of  his  actions,  immediately  divided  into 
two  parties,  and  our  family  became  an  image  of  the  grand 
whole. 

My  great  grandfather,  as  a  senator  of  Frankfort,  had  carried 
the  crown  at  the  election  of  Francis  h  The  Empress  Maria 
Theresa  had  presented  him  with  a  gold  chain  and  her  portrait, 
He  was  accordingly  a  partisan  of  Austria,  as  were  two  of  his 
daughters  and  sons-in-law.  My  father,  whom  the  competitor  of 
Francis  of  Lorraine,  the  elector  of  Bavaria,  Charles  VII.,  had 
nominated  imperial  counsellor,  and  who  had  taken  the  most 
lively  interest  in  the  misfortunes  of  that  Emperor,  inclined  for 
Prussia  ;  the  rest  of  the  members  of  the  family  participated  in 
his  sentiments.  The  misunderstandings  too  common  among 
relations  soon  began  to  appear.  Disputes  arose,  sarcasms  were 
thrown  out,  a  gloomy  silence  ensued,  and  afterward  the  storm 
recommenced  ;  even  my  grandfather,  who,  previously,  had 
always  evinced  so  quiet,  so  easy,  and  pleasant  a  temper,  now 
showed  signs  of  impatience.  In  vain  did  the  women  attempt 
to  extinguish  the  flame.  After  several  unpleasant  scenes,  my 
father  withdrew  from  their  company.  We  were  then  at  liberty 
to  rejoice  without  restraint  in  the  victories  of  the  Prussians  ;  of 
which  one  of  my  aunts,  of  a  lively  and  ardent  character,  usually 
took  great  pleasure  in  informing  us.  All  other  interests  yielded 
to  this,  and  we  passed  the  rest  of  the  year  in  perpetual  agita- 
tion. The  occupation  of  Dresden,  the  King's  moderation  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war,  his  slow  but  sure  progress,  the  victory 
of  Lowositz,  and  the  capture  of  the  Saxon  army,  were  so  many 
triumphs  to  our  party.  The  successes  of  our  adversaries  were 
denied  or  extenuated.  They  showed  no  less  partiality  in  their 
hostility  to  the  Prussians  ;  and  when  we  met,  we  behaved  nearly 
like  the  Capulets  and  the  Montagues  in  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

I  was  a  Prussian,  or  rather  a  Frederician,  for  we  did  not  care 
much  about  Prussia  ;  it  was  the  personal  character  of  her  great 
King  that  captiva! ed  us.  My  father  and  I  congratulated  our- 
selves on  the  victories  of  this  monarch.  I  amused  myself  in 
copying  out  the  military  songs  made  in  his  praise  ;  and  more 
particularly  the  satirical  verses  aimed  at  the  opposite  party,  in 
which  I  always  took  pleasure,  although  1  sometimes  could  not 
help  observing  their  dulness. 

From  childhood  I  had  constantly  dined  with  my  grandfather 
on  Sundays,  as  the  eldest  of  his  grandchildren,  and  his  godson. 
This  dinner  had  always  seemed  to  me  the  most  agreeable  hour 
of  the  whole  week.  But,  at  the  period  of  which  I  am  speaking, 
I  had  lost  all  relish  for  it.  I  was  condemned  to  hear  nothing  but 
invectives  against  my  hero.    The  wind  that  blew  in  that  quartei 


ÀlEMOiKS  OF  GOETHÈ. 


was  unfavourable  to  me.  This  opposition  diminished  my  atlec 
lion,  and  even  my  respect,  for  my  grandfather.  I  durst  not 
speak  in  his  presence.  I  therefore  abandoned  him  to  his  preju- 
dices, as  my  mother  advised  me  to  do.  This  circumstance 
threw  a  new  light  upon  some  of  my  ideas.  The  earthquake  at 
Lisbon  had  made  me,  at  six  years  of  age,  entertain  doubts  of  the 
goodness  of  God  ;  and  the  occurrences  of  the  period  of  which 
I  am  now  speaking,  so  far  as  they  related  to  Frederick  IL,  led 
me  to  doubt  the  justice  of  the  public.  I  was  naturally  disposed 
to  respect  virtue  ;  nothing  but  my  venerable  grandfather's  opi- 
nion on  the  great  events  of  that  time  could  have  shaken  my 
faith  in  his  merit.  Unfortunately  it  had  been  the  practice  of 
those  who  had  given  us  precepts  of  good  conduct  and  morality, 
to  recommend  them  less  on  account  of  their  own  intrinsic  value, 
than  as  the  means  of  gaining  the  esteem  of  others.  What  would 
the  public  say  ?  was  incessantly  repeated  to  us.  I  was  thus  ac- 
customed to  consider  the  public  as  constantly  just,  and  an  infal- 
lible judge  of  the  value  of  men  and  things.  I  now  saw  the  con- 
trary. The  most  distinguished  merit,  with  which  all  ought  to  have 
been  equally  struck,  became  an  object  of  contempt  and  hatred 
to  the  opposite  party.  Those  who  could  not  deny  the  perform- 
ance of  great  actions,  eagerly  endeavoured  to  misrepresent 
them  :  and  who  was  the  object  of  this  crying  injustice  ?  The 
man  of  all  others  the  most  elevated  above  his  contemporaries  ! — 
the  hero  who  every  day  gave  new  and  indisputable  proofs  of  his 
genius  !  Nor  was  this  injustice  confined  to  the  multitude  :  peo- 
ple of  distinguished  rank  and  talents,  among  whom  I  was  obliged 
to  include  my  grandfather  and  uncles,  were  equally  guilty.  At 
that  age,  I  had  no  idea  of  the  spirit  of  party.  I  thought  my 
opinion  right,  and  saw  no  reason  to  conceal  it.  I  had  no  objec- 
tion to  the  praises  of  Maria  Theresa's  beauty,  fortitude,  and 
other  good  qualities  ;  I  did  not  even  blame  her  husband  for  his 
inordinate  love  of  jewels  and  money  ;  but  I  thought  there  was 
no  harm  in  ridiculing  the  tardiness  and  indecision  of  Marshal 
Daun. 

When  I  reflect  on  these  circumstances,  Ï  perceive  in  them 
the  origin  of  that  indifference,  I  may  say  that  contempt,  for  the 
judgment  of  the  public,  which  I  wa?  long  inclined  to  entertain  ; 
a  moral  disorder,  of  which  it  was  many  years  before  experience 
and  reflection  could  accomplish  the  cure.  It  must,  however, 
be  allowed  that  party  injustice  was  not  only  disagreeable  but 
injurious  to  me,  by  estranging  me  from  those  I  most  esteemed 
and  loved. 

Important  events,  rapidly  succeeding  each  other,  kept  up  our 
anxiety  and  attention  ;  and  thus  we  passed  our  time  in  annoying 
one  another,  up  to  the  period  when  the  occupation  of  Frankfort 
by  the  French  furnished  the  inhabitants  with  more  substantial 
vexations. 

Fears  were  entertained  that  our  countries  would  shortly  bo- 


MtMOlRS  OF  GOETHE. 


45 


tome  the  theatre  of  war.  We  were  kept  at  home  ;  but  our 
friends  endeavoured  to  relieve  the  ennui  of  our  confinement,  as 
it  might  be  called,  by  various  amusements  and  occupations. 
The  puppets  which  our  grandmother  had  bequeathed  to  us,  were 
once  more  brought  into  play.  This  childish  theatre  engaged 
almost  all  our  attention  ;  but  we  wanted  spectators.  We  were 
accordingly  allowed  to  invite  several  of  the  neighbours'  children 
to  partake  in  our  amusements.  We  next  wanted  an  author  ;  I 
therefore  composed  several  little  pieces,  which  obtained  the  ap- 
plause of  our  public.  We  sometimes  represented  the  party  dis- 
putes of  the  day.  These  scenes  of  mimic  discord  frequently 
ended  in  scolding,  uproar,  and  blows.  I  had  constantly  on  my 
side  a  young  friend  whom  I  called  Pvlades.  In  one  of  oifr  comic 
wars,  he  sided  with  my  adversaries  ;  but  he  scarcely  kept  up  his 
hostility  for  a  moment,  and,  leaving  his  companions,  rushed  into 
my  arms.  We  burst  into  tears,  and  mutually  vowed  an  eternal 
friendship,  to  which  our  hearts  ever  after  remained  faithful. 

I  detested  falsehood  and  dissimulation,  and  was  an  enemy  to 
levity.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  from  my  manners,  that  I  thought 
seriously  of  my  duties  both  towards  others  and  myself.  I  was 
sometimes  reminded  in  a  friendly  way,  but  oftener  still  ironically, 
of  the  dignity  I  pretended  to.  1  had  several  friends,  and  still 
more  enemies.  I  and  my  adherents  were  often  roughly  roused 
from  these  fantastical  reveries  in  which  we  were  so  fond  of  in- 
dulging. We  therefore  ran  no  risk  of  enervating  ourselves  by 
these  sallies  of  the  imagination.  Our  tribulations  and  contests 
interrupted  them  but  too  often. 

Physical  sufferings  assisted  to  endow  me  with  the  stoical  vir- 
tues suitable  to  my  age.  Our  masters  often  treated  us  with  the 
greatest  severity.  The  cane  and  the  rod  were  not  spared  in  our 
education.  We  hardened  ourselves  to  these  inflictions  as  well 
as  we  could  ;  for  the  least  attempt  at  resistance  would  only  have 
drawn  double  chastisement  upon  us. 

At  the  same  time,  the  savage  brutality  of  some  of  my  fellow- 
pupils,  who  had  conceived  an  aversion  for  me,  sometimes  drove 
me  almost  mad. 

It  was  not,  however,  their  buffetings  that  gave  me  most  con- 
cern :  I  could  repel  force  by  force.  But  I  did  not  feel  the  same 
power  to  defend  myself  against  the  attacks  of  their  tongues  ;  and 
I  found  that  in  such  cases  the  defendant  is  under  disadvantages. 
An  instance  of  this  kind,  which  1  will  venture  to  add,  will  exem- 
plify the  vexations  inherent  in  man's  relations  with  his  fellow- 
men.  For  these  inconveniencies  are  inseparable  from  social 
life  ;  and  our  susceptibility  frequently  errs  in  attributing  them 
to  a  personal  fatality.  If  the  knowledge  of  this  truth  does  not 
protect  us  from  the  evil,  it  at  least  teaches  us  how  to  endure  it. 

Among  the  advantages  for  which  I  was  envied  by  those  of  my 
companions  who  were  ill-disposed  towards  me,  the  respectability 
which  my  grandfather's  elevated  functions  reflected  on  his  family 
was  not  the  least. 

D 


MEMOIRS  OV  GOETHE. 


I  was  one  day  boasting  of  having  seen  him  sitting  in  the  senate, 
under  the  emperor's  portrait,  and  on  a  raised  arm-chair  which 
might  have  passed  for  a  throne.  "  You  were  no  doubt  equally 
proud,"  said  one  of  my  companions  in  a  sneering  tone,  k'when 
your  paternal  grandfather  presided  over  his  table  ffhôte  at  the 
public-house  he  kept."  I  answered,  that  1  was  far  from  being 
ashamed  of  the  relation  he  mentioned  :  the  best  privilege  of  our 
native  city,  in  my  opinion,  was  the  equality  of  its  citizens,  all  of 
whom  were  respectable  in  their  professions  so  long  as  they  ex- 
ercised them  with  honour.  My  only  regret,  I  continued,  was 
that  this  worthy  man  had  long  been  dead  :  had  it  been  otherwise, 
J  would  have  sought  out  his  tomb,  and  paid  him  the  homage  of 
an  inscription  on  it,  in  token  of  my  respect  for  his  memory.  The 
boy  whom  I  addressed,  and  his  companion,  now  whispered  to 
each  other  ;  after  which  they  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  derision. 
My  blood  began  to  boil  :  I  challenged  them  to  speak  aloud. 
"  Since  you  must  know  it,"  said  one  of  them,  "  it  is  said  that  you 
might  seek  a  long  time  before  you  would  find  your  grandfather." 
I  insisted,  with  violent  threats,  on  their  explaining  themselves 
more  clearly.  They  then  told  me  a  tale  which  they  pretended 
to  have  heard  from  their  relations.  My  father,  according  to 
them,  was  the  son  of  a  man  of  high  birth.  The  honest  landlord 
of  the  inn  at  Weidenhoffhad  no  claim  to  the  paternal  character 
which  he  had  assumed  ;  our  wealth  came  solely  from  our  grand- 
mother ;  our  other  relations  were  without  fortune.  Whilst  they 
told  me  this  story,  they  held  themselves  in  readiness  to  take  to 
flight  on  my  first  motion;  but  1  listened  to  them  more  calmly 
than  they  had  expected,  and  answered  them  with  much  phlegm, 
that  if  they  had  thought  to  vex  me  they  had  deceived  themselves  : 
life  was  so  great  an  advantage,  that  we  ought  not  to  be  very  fas- 
tidious as  to  the  person  we  had  received  it  from; — after  all,  it 
was  the  gift  of  God,  in  whose  sight  we  were  all  equal.  As  they 
had  nothing  to  say  in  reply,  our  altercation  ended  there  ;  and  a 
game  at  play,  a  medium  of  conciliation  much  employed  by  chil- 
dren, soon  banished  all  memory  of  this  quarrel,  and  of  those 
which  had  preceded  it. 

The  result,  however,  of  all  these  schoolboy  disputes  was,  that 
our  common  lessons  became  less  frequent,  and  at  length  ceased 
entirely.  Thus  I  was  once  more  confined  to  my  father's  house; 
where  I  found,  in  my  sister  Cornelia,  scarcely  one  year  younger 
than  myself,  a  companion  who  daily  grew  more  amiable. 

The  discourse  of  my  fellow-pupils  occasionally  recurred  to 
my  mind.  These  recollections  gradually  developed  in  me  the 
germ  of  a  kind  of  moral  infirmity.  1  was  not  displeased  to  ima- 
gine myself  the  son  of  a  man  of  high  birth,  even  supposing  my 
descent  illegitimate.  My  reflections  involuntarily  reverted  to 
the  few  data  that  my  memory  could  furnish  on  this  subject.  The 
more  I  combined  them,  the  more  they  seemed  to  me  to  bear  the 
stamp  of  probability.  Our  paternal  grandfather  was  very  sel- 
dom mentioned  in  my  presence:  but  I  had  seen  his  portrait,  to- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


27 


gether  with  that  of  my  grandmother,  in  an  apartment  in  our  old 
house  :  it  was  still  preserved  in  an  upper  chamber  of  our  new 
habitation.  My  grandmother  on  my  father's  side,  must  have 
been  a  very  beautiful  woman.  I  also  well  remembered  having 
long  been  used  to  see  at  our  house  the  miniature  of  a  handsome 
man  in  regimentals,  decorated  with  a  star  and  cross.  This  minia- 
ture had  disappeared,  with  many  other  petty  articles,  in  the  con- 
fusion occasioned  by  the  rebuilding  of  our  house.  I  combined 
all  these  circumstances  with  many  more  in  my  little  head,  and 
thus  made  an  early  essay  in  romantic  composition. 

I  could  confide  the  subject  which  engaged  my  attention  to  no 
one.    Every  question  which  could  have  the  most  indirect  refe- 
rence to  it  was  interdicted.    All  that  I  could  do,  therefore,  was 
to  endeavour  to  approach  the  truth  as  nearly  as  possible  by  se- 
cret researches.    I  had  heard  that  children  often  resembled  their 
father  and  grandfather.    Several  persons  with  whom  I  was  ac- 
quainted, (among  others  Schneider  the  counsellor,  who  was  in- 
timate at  my  father's)  kept  up  a  communication  with  the  neigh- 
bouring princes  and  lords,  who  often  honoured  their  faithful 
agents  with  presents  of  their  portraits.    I  found  at  the  counsel- 
lor's the  portrait  of  the  person  whose  miniature  had  so  forcibly 
struck  me  when  a  child.    I  examined  it  attentively,  endeavour- 
ing to  discover  in  it  some  resemblance  to  my  father  or  myself, 
I  often  thought  I  had  succeeded,  and  acquired  the  conviction  I  so 
ardently  desired  ;  sometimes  founding  the  relationship  on  my 
father's  nose,  and  sometimes  on  my  own  eyes.    These  illusions, 
however,  were  not  sufficiently  strong  to  remove  all  my  uncer- 
tainty.   But  although  I  was  afterward  obliged  to  consign  all  that 
had  been  told  me  respecting  my  paternal  grandfather  to  the  re- 
gions of  fiction,  I  never  could  entirely  efface  the  impression  it 
had  made  from  my  mind  ;  so  true  it  is,  that  whatever  tends  to 
draw  us  from  obscurity,  even  at  the  expense  of  our  real  dignity, 
easily  seduces  us  by  flattering  our  vanity. 

But  away  with  painful  reflections  ;  let  me  rather  look  back  to 
those  days  so  long  since  fled.  Where  is  the  man  who  can  faith- 
fully depict  that  fulness  of  life  which  is  the  characteristic  of  child- 
hood ?  With  what  satisfaction,  and  even  admiration,  do  we  con- 
template these  little  creatures  as  they  play  about  us  !  Most  of 
them,  indeed,  promise  more  than  they  will  perform  ;  as  if  nature, 
among  the  illusions  with  which  she  amuses  us,  had  particularly 
intended  to  present  us  with  a  fleeting  image  of  perfection.  A 
child's  organs  are  so  wonderfully  adapted  to  their  momentary 
destination — he  applies  them  to  his  purposes  and  occasions  with 
equal  simplicity  and  adroitness.  Within  the  circle  of  his  facul- 
ties, his  understanding,  his  reason,  seem  perfect.  When  we  see 
him  so  flexible,  so  full  of  dexterity,  so  contented,  we  are  almost 
tempted  to  imagine,  that  these  natural  gifts  stand  in  no  need  of 
cultivation.  If  the  progress  of  children  were  always  answerable 
to  the  expectations  they  excite,  almost  every  one  of  them  would 
be  a  genius,    But  the  effect  of  age  is  far  from  being  confined  to 


MEMOIRS  BP  GOËTHE. 


the  mere  developement  of  the  primitive  faculties.  Not  only  de- 
velopement, but  revolution  and  confusion  in  our  organic  system, 
must  take  place  before  we  attain  the  state  of  manhood.  At  the 
end  of  a  certain  period,  scarcely  are  there  any  traces  to  be  dis- 
cerned of  several  of  those  early  inclinations  which,  in  the  first 
instance,  fixed  our  attention. 

Thus,  even  supposing  that  the  natural  faculties  of  man  im- 
press on  him  a  determinate  direction,  this  would  not  render  it 
the  less  difficult  for  even  the  most  skilful  observer  to  prognosti- 
cate that  direction  with  certainty  :  but  at  a  later  period,  when 
we  recall  the  past,  we  may  discover  traces  of  the  promises  it  af- 
forded with  respect  to  the  future.  My  intention,  therefore,  is 
not  to  relate  every  thing  1  did  or  experienced  in  my  childhood, 
but  to  look  back  to  that  period  in  search  of  the  circumstances 
which,  although  I  took  no  particular  notice  of  them  at  the  time, 
determined  the  direction  1  have  pursued  in  life. 

In  the  year  1757,  although  we  remained  undisturbed  in  our 
city,  our  imaginations  were  kept  in  constant  activity  :  perhaps 
that  year  was  more  fertile  in  events  than  any  other  during  the 
war.  Victories,  great  actions,  reverses,  losses,  and  recoveries 
of  fortune,  rapidly  succeeded  each  other.  But  Frederick's  noble 
countenance,  his  name,  his  glory,  still  shone  in  the  first  rank. 
The  enthusiasm  of  his  admirers,  and  the  hatred  of  his  enemies, 
constantly  kept  increasing;  and  this  opposition  of  opinions,  which 
sowed  division  in  families,  contributed  more  and  more  to  estrange 
the  citizens  from  each  other,  separated  as  they  already  were  by 
other  interests.  It  will  readily  be  conceived,  that  in  a  city  like 
Frankfort,  the  inhabitants  of  which  were  divided  by  three  différ- 
ent religions  into  three  unequal  masses,  and  where  a  few  men 
only,  even  amongst  the  principal  citizens,  were  qualified  for  the 
management  of  public  business,  many  proprietors  and  persons  of 
information  were  likely  to  withdraw  from  society,  and  to  seek  in 
study  and  the  indulgence  of  their  taste,  an  independent  and  re- 
tired life.  Thus  my  father,  on  his  return  from  his  travels,  wish- 
ing to  reconcile  his  taste  with  his  wish  to  be  useful  to  his  native 
city,  had  conceived  the  scheme  of  undertaking  a  subaltern  em- 
ployment to  which  no  emolument  was  attached,  provided  it  were 
conferred  on  him  without  his  hazarding  the  risks  of  an  election. 
According  to  his  views,  his  ideas  of  himself,  and  his  conscious- 
ness of  zeal,  he  thought  he  deserved  this  distinction  ;  but  it  was 
not  authorized  either  by  law  or  custom.  His  wish  was  not  ac- 
ceded to,  and  he  resented  the  refusal.  He  swore  that  he  would 
never  accept  any  place  ;  and  to  deprive  himself  even  of  the  power 
of  doing  so,  he  got  himself  nominated  privy-counsellor  to  the 
Emperor — a  title  borne  as  honorary  by  the  pretor  and  the  elder 
senators.  This  title  placed  him  above  his  equals,  and  rendered 
it  impossible  for  him  to  accept  any  inferior  office.  The  same 
motive  induced  him  to  marry  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  pretor; 
a  marriage  which  excluded  him  from  the  senate.  Thus  was  Mr. 
Goethe  placed  in  the  class  of  passive  citizens,  devoted  to  a  re- 


:UEMÏ)IRS  OF  GOftTHE. 


29 


tired  Hie,  who  kept  up  little  intercourse  among  themselves,  or 
with  the  rest  of  society.  For  the  more  people  observe  that  soli- 
tude increases  the  asperities  of  the  character,  the  more  attached 
to  it  they  become.  My  father's  travels  and  experience  of  the 
world,  had  inspired  him  with  a  taste  for  a  more  elegant  and  libe- 
ral style  of  living  than  his  fellow-citizens  were  accustomed  to  ; 
and  he  accordingly  connected  himself  with  men  of  similar  incli- 
nations. There  was,  among  others,  Mr.  Offenbach,  a  distin- 
guished musical  amateur,  and  an  agreeable  singer;  Baron  Hackel, 
a  connoiseur  in  pictures,  engravings,  and  antiquities,  of  which 
he  possessed  an  ample  collection  ;  Mr.  Lôën,  known  in  the  lite- 
rary world  by  his  romance  entitled  The  Count  de  Rivera,  and  still 
more  by  a  graver  work  published  under  the  title  of  One  only  true 
Religion.  The  object  of  this  boob  was  to  persuade  the  Christian 
communions,  and  particularly  the  Lutherans  and  Calvinists,  to 
adopt  a  system  of  reciprocal  toleration.  It  involved  the  author 
in  a  vexatious  contest  with  the  theologians.  Frederick,  thinking 
he  perceived  in  him  a  man  exempt  from  prejudices,  and  a  parti- 
san of  the  philosophical  opinions  then  fashionable  in  France,  gave 
him  a  presidency  at  Lingen  ;  but  it  was  said  that  Mr.  Loën  was 
far  from  being  highly  gratified  by  the  favour.  Lingen  was,  in 
fact,  a  much  less  agreeable  residence  than  Frankfort.  My  father 
blamed  him  for  having  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  within  the 
sphere  of  Frederick.  He  cited  the  example  of  Voltaire,  who 
was  so  singularly  rewarded  by  his  pupil  in  poetry.*  To  this  list 
of  my  father's  friends,  I  must  add  those  of  Dr.  Orth,  an  excellent 
man;  Mr.  Ochsenstein,  the  eldest  of  the  three  brothers  of  that 
name  ;  Messrs.  Senkenberg,  and  Mr.  Moser. 

A  far  more  illustrious  name,  that  of  Klopstock,  already  exer- 
cised its  all-powerful  influence  over  us,  although  from  a  distance. 

My  father's  library  had  hitherto  introduced  to  my  knowledge 
only  those  of  the  national  poets  who  had  acquired  celebrity  in 
his  time;  Canitz,  Hagedorn,  Drollinger,  Gellert,  Kreutz,  and 
Haller,  were  arranged  on  his  shelves  in  beautiful  French  bind- 
ings. From  my  childhood  1  had  read  their  poems  over  and 
over  again  ;  and  I  had  learnt  by  heart  a  great  number  of  fragments 
of  them.  My  remembrance  of  these  works  was  oftei.  applied  to 
tor  the  amusement  of  company.  But  all  these  poets  had  written 
in  rhyme  ;  and  rhyme,  in  my  father's  opinion,  was  indispensable 
to  poetry.  The  appearance  of  Klopstock's  Messiah  was  there- 
fore a  period  of  annoyance  to  Mr.  Goëthe.  He  could  not  com- 
prehend how  verses,  which,  as  he  thought,  were  no  verses  at  all, 
should  attract  the  admiration  of  the  public  !  He  would  not  pur- 
chase the  poem  himself  ;  but  he  could  not  prevent  our  good 
friend  counsellor  Schneider  from  lending  it  to  my  mother,  and 
my  mother  lent  it  to  her  children. 

'  Every  one  knows  the  manner  in  which  Frederick  caused  Sergeant  Freytàg 
to  demand  the  return  of  his  poems  by  Voltaire,  whilst  thé  latter  resided  at 
Frankfort. — Ed. 


80 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOËTHE. 


Mr.  Schneider,  absorbed  in  his  business,  did  not  read  much. 
But  when  the  Messiah  appeared,  it  made  a  deep  impression  on 
him.  Its  expression  of  pious  sensibility,  at  once  so  natural  and 
so  noble,  its  enchanting  style,  even  regarding  it  only  as  harmoni- 
ous prose,  had  so  gained  the  not  very  sensitive  heart  of  this  man 
of  business,  that  he  considered  the  first  ten  cantos — and  we  are 
now  speaking  only  of  this  first  part  of  the  poem — as  the  most 
magnificent  of  poetical  creations.  Every  year,  during  Holy 
Week,  which  lié  devoted  to  relaxation  from  business,  he  read 
over  his  cherished  poem  in  solitude  ;  and  this  perusal  was  a  meal 
which  satisfied  him  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  He  at  first  flattered 
himself  with  the  hope  of  inducing  his  old  friend  to  share  his  ad- 
miration ;  but  he  was  much  astonished  to  find  in  my  father  an  in- 
vincible antipathy  to  this  beautiful  work,  on  account  of  a  matter 
of  f  rm,  which  appeared  to  him  (Schneider)  wholly  indiffèrent. 
It  will  readily  be  imagined  that  he  did  not  own  himself  vanquish- 
ed, but  returned  to  the  charge  several  times:  but  the  discussion 
sometimes  degenerated  into  somewhat  warm  disputes  ;  so  that 
honest  Schneider,  to  avoid  losing  at  once  an  old  friend  and  a 
good  dinner  on  Sundays,  decided  on  abandoning  the  cause  of 
Klopstock. 

But  as  the  making  of.proselytes  is  a  desire  by  which  all  men 
are  actuated,  how  great  was  the  secret  satisfaction  which  indem- 
nified our  worthy  friend,  when  he  found  that  all  the  rest  of  the 
family  participated  in  his  enthusiasm.  The  copy,  which  he 
used  only  during  one  week,  was  at  our  service  all  the  rest  of  the 
year.  My  mother  kept  it  concealed  ;  but  whenever  my  sister 
and  I  could  find  it,  we  got  hold  of  it  in  our  play-hours,  read  it  by 
ourselves,  and  tried  to  engrave  its  finest  passages  on  our  memo- 
ry. When  we  were  walking,  we  used  to  recite  Porcia's  dream  : 
we  learned  the  dialogue,  animated  by  the  savage  energy  of  des- 
pair, between  Satan  and  Adramelech,  precipitated  into  a  sea  of 
flame.  The  character  of  the  former,  as  the  most  violent,  was 
assigned  to  me  :  my  sister  assumed  the  other,  in  which  the  ex- 
pression of  resentment  was  somewhat  softened  by  that  of  com- 
plaint and  sorrow.  We  exchanged  these  frightful  and  sonorous 
maledictions,  and  seized  every  opportunity  of  saluting  each 
other  in  this  diabolical  language. 

One  Saturday  evening  my  father  was  undergoing  the  operation 
of  shaving  by  candlelight,  in  order  to  be  ready  early  on  Sunday 
morning  to  proceed  to  church.  We  were  sitting  in  a  closet  be- 
hind his  apartment.  Whilst  the  barber  was  at  work,  we  were 
muttering  our  customary  maledictions  ;  at  length  we  came  to 
the  part  where  Adramelech  seizes  Satan  with  an  iron  hand  :  my 
sister  grasped  my  arm  violently,  and  uttered  in  a  low  tone,  but 
with  gradually  increasing  animation,  the  following  words  : — 

"  Come  to  my  aid,  if  thou  canst  ;  I  beg,  I  intreat.  It  is 
thou  whom  I  implore,  reprobate,  black  wretch  !  come  to  my 
assistance.  I  am  suffering  the  vengeful  punishment  of  an 
eternal  death.    Why  could  I  not  first  hate  thee  with  a  mortal 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


31 


hatred.  What  can  I  now  do  ?  To  what  a  state  of  misery  am  I 
reduced!" 

So  far  all  went  on  peaceably  ;  but  she  now  exclaimed  with  a 
loud  voice  and  terrific  expression, 

"  Oh  !  what  excruciating  tortures  I  endure  !" 

At  these  words  the  poor  barber,  affrighted,  let  fall  the  lather 
into  my  father's  bosom.  All  the  house  was  in  motion  to  learn 
the  cause  of  this  outcry,  which  might  have  cost  Mr.  Goethe  a 
wound,  if  the  barber  had  had  his  razor  in  his  hand  at  that  mo- 
ment. To  avoid  all  suspicion,  we  were  obliged  to  confess  the 
secret  of  our  infernal  drama.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add,  that  the 
unlucky  hexameters  which  had  caused  this  accident  were  again 
accursed  and  condemned.  Thus  do  children,  like  the  populace, 
often  turn  the  grand  and  sublime  into  subjects  of  ridicule  and 
buffoonery.  How  was  it  possible  for  us,  at  our  age,  to  keep  up 
with  the  elevation  of  the  author  we  were  reading  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  the  beginning  of  the  new  year — a  day  on  which  the 
general  bustle  occasioned  by  the  customary  visits  of  congratula- 
tion set  the  whole  city  in  motion.  To  us  children  this  day  al- 
ways afforded  a  pleasure  long  and  eagerly  wished  for  at  our 
grandfather's  house,  where  we  used  to  assemble  bj  break  of  day, 
to  hear  a  concert  performed  by  all  the  musicians  belonging  to 
the  town,  the  military  bands,  and  all  who  had  any  pretensions  to 
handle  flute,  clarionet,  or  hautboy.  We  were  intrusted  to  dis- 
tribute new-year's  gifts  to  the  people  of  the  ground  story  :  the 
number  of  receivers  and  the  crowd  of  visiters  hourly  increased. 
Relations  and  confidential  persons  came  first  ;  functionaries  and 
people  in  subordinate  situations  next  ;  and  even  the  members  of 
the  senate  wrould  not  fail  to  pay  their  respects  to  their  pretor. 
A  select  party  used  to  sup  in  the  evening  in  a  dining-room,  which 
was  scarcely  ever  opened  again  during  the  remainder  of  the 
year.  We  were  particularly  delighted,  as  will  easily  be  believed, 
with  the  tarts,  biscuits,  macaroons,  and  sweet  wines  distribu- 
ted on  the  occasion.  In  short,  on  this  anniversary  we  enjoy- 
ed, on  a  small  scale,  every  thing  that  is  usual  in  the  celebration 
of  more  pompous  festivals. 

The  first  day  of  the  year  1 759,  no  less  ardently  wished  for 
than  its  predecessors,  brought  us  our  usual  gratifications  ;  but  it . 
was  a  day  of  uneasiness  and  evil  omen  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Frankfort.  They  were  accustomed  to  the  passage  of  the  French 
troops  ;  numerous  bodies  were  frequently  seen  to  pass  ;  but  their 
numbers,  and  the  frequency  of  their  appearance,  had  increased 
during  the  last  few  days  of  the  year  expired.  According  to  the 
practice  adopted  in  the  imperial  cities,  the  guard  of  the  princi- 


S3 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


pal  tower  used  to  sound  the  trumpet  every  time  any  troops  ap- 
peared. On  New-Year's-day  he  sounded  it  almost  incessantly  ; 
a  certain  sign  that  a  strong  corps  d'armée  was  moving  on  seve- 
ral points.  Accordingly,  the  same  day,  several  numerous  masses 
of  troops  directed  their  march  towards  the  city  :  the  people 
thronged  to  see  them  pass  through  it.  They  were  accustomed 
to  see  them  march  in  small  detachments  ;  but  on  this  day  the 
detachments  continually  increased  in  strength,  the  city  being  un- 
willing or  unable  to  prevent  it.  At  length,  on  the  2d  of  Janu- 
ary, a  column  advanced  by  Saxenhausen,  over  the  bridge  ;  halt- 
ed ;  made  the  officer  commanding  the  post  prisoner  ;  occupied 
it  themselves  ;  and  after  a  feeble  resistance,  took  possession  like- 
wise of  the  grand  guard  house.  A  peaceful  town  was  thus,  in  a 
moment,  converted  into  a  place  of  war  ;  and  the  troops  bivou- 
acqued  in  the  streets  until  quarters  could  be  prepared  for  them. 

This  unexpected  burthen,  which  had  been  unknown  in  Frank- 
fort for  many  years,  pressed  heavily  on  the  citizens  ;  but  no  one 
felt  it  a  greater  hardship  than  my  father.  To  receive  foreign 
soldiers  as  inmates  of  his  scarcely-finished  house  ;  to  abandon  to 
them  his  drawing-room,  so  beautifully  embellished,  and  almost 
always  kept  shut  up  ;  to  see  all  that  he  took  so  much  pains  to 
arrange  and  keep  in  order,  given  up  to  the  caprice  of  an  armed 
guest  :  he,  a  partisan  of  the  Prussians,  to  find  himself  besieged  in 
his  own  apartments  by  the  French — what  could  possibly  be  more 
distressing  to  him.  according  to  his  opinions  and  peculiar  feel- 
ings ?  He  might  easily  have  bent  to  circumstances  ;  he  spoke 
French  well,  and  was  extremely  capable  of  behaving  with  dig- 
nified politeness  ;  he  might  thus  have  spared  himself  as  well  as 
us,  many  uneasy  hours  :  for  a  Lieutenant  de  Roi,*  was  quartered 
on  us,  whose  functions,  although  he  was  a  soldier,  constituted 
him  judge  of  all  differences  between  the  troops  and  the  citizens, 
and  of  all  civil  cases  between  the  people  belonging  to  the  army. 
This  was  the  count  de  Thorane,  of  the  town  of  Grasse,  in  Pro- 
vence. His  face  was  long,  thin,  and  much  disfigured  by  the 
small-pox  ;  he  had  a  serious  look  ;  his  eyes  were  black  and 
sparkling  ;  his  manners  were  dignified.  His  behaviour  on  his  ar- 
rival augured  favourably  for  the  master  of  the  house.  Hearing 
an  apartment  ornamented  with  pictures  mentioned,  he  immedi- 
ately requested  the  favour  of  a  peep  at  them,  although  by  can- 
dlelight. He  appeared  charmed  with  them,  and  warmly  express- 
ed his  satisfaction  to  my  father,  who  accompanied  him  ;  and  find- 
ing that  the  artists  by  whom  several  of  them  had  been  painted 
lived  at  Frankfort,  or  in  the  neighbourhood,  he  expressed  a  wish 
to  become  acquainted  with  them,  and  to  give  them  some  com- 
missions. 

But  the  intimacy  which  this  similarity  of  taste  in  the  arts 
seemed  adapted  to  produce,  could  neither  alter  my  father's  pre- 
possessions, nor  induce  him  to  put  a  little  constraint  on  his  tem- 

*  A  Deputy  Governor. — Ej>. 


.MEMOIRS   OF  GOilTHË. 


yer.  He  suflèred  what  he  could  not  prevent,  but  constantly 
kept  out  of  the  way,  thus  depriving  himself  of  all  influence  ;  and 
finding  insupportable  annoyance  even  in  the  most  trifling  parti- 
culars of  all  that  was  passing  around  him. 

The  conduct  of  the  Count  de  Thorane  was  nevertheless  irre- 
proachable. He  did  not  even  permit  his  map  to  be  fixed  againslN. 
the  wall,  for  fear  of  damaging  the  hangings.  His  people  were 
quiet,  and  behaved  well.  It  is  true  that  during  the  whole  day 
and  even  part  of  the  night  there  was  not  a  moment's  peace  or 
rest  in  his  apartment  :  complainants  incessantly  arrived  ;  per- 
sons arrested  were  continually  brought  in,  or  taken  away.  The 
house  was  perpetually  filled  with  officers,  for,  to  add  to  our  vexa- 
tions, the  Count  kept  open  table.  From  the  constant  bustle  and 
hum  the  place  resembled  a  bee- hive  ;  and  although  every  thing 
proceeded  in  an  orderly  manner,  the  effect  of  all  this  traffic  in  a 
house  which  was  but  of  moderate  size,  and  contrived  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  a  single  family  only,  may  easily  be  conceived. 

Fortunately,  a  worthy  interpreter  stepped  in  as  the  medium 
of  conciliation  between  the  master  of  the  house,  constantly  irri- 
tated and  disposed  to  complain,  and  his  guest,  whose  heart  was 
full  of  kindness,  but  whose  behaviour  was  almost  always  regula- 
ted by  the  strictest  gravity.  This  interpreter  was  a  townsman 
of  Frankfort,  a  fine-looking  good-humoured  man,  who  spoke 
French  fluently,  knew  well  how  to  yield  to  circumstances,  and 
went  on  smoothly  without  regarding  petty  disagreeables.  My 
mother  had  requested  him  to  apologize  to  the  Count  for  her  hus- 
band's behaviour.  He  performed  this  task  with  wonderful  suc- 
cess, attributing  Mr.  Goëthe's  distant  manners  to  his  natural 
taste  for  retirement,  and  the  occupation  of  his  time  in  the  in- 
struction of  his  children.  The  Count,  whose  pride  it  was  to 
prove  himself  guided  by  severe  and  incorruptible  justice  in  per- 
forming the  duties  of  his  situation,  wished  also  to  set  an  example 
of  civility  to  his  hosts.  During  a  whole  year  that  he  resided, 
with  us,  he  never  once  failed  in  this  respect. 

My  mother  had  a  tolerable  knowledge  of  the  Italian  language  ; 
she  now  resolved  to  learn  French.  She  had  stood  godmother 
to  one  of  the  interpreter's  children,  who  was  thus  led  to  our 
house  by  two  motives.  He  lived  opposite  us,  and  was  very 
ready  to  employ  his  leisure  hours  in  teaching  my  mother,  and 
particularly  in  furnishing  her  with  such  phrases  as  she  was  likely 
to  have  frequent  occasion  to  exchange  with  the  Count  :  this  suc- 
ceeded admirably.  M.  de  Thorane  was  flattered  by  the  pains 
which  the  mistress  of  the  house  took  to  please  him.  He  was  a 
sensible  man,  and  accustomed  to  the  gallant  manners  of  his  na- 
tion. An  intercourse  of  good  will  and  politeness  was  according- 
ly established  between  him  and  my  mother,  of  which  she  and 
the  interpreter  frequently  availed  themselves  to  obtain  favours. 

Had  it  been  possible  to  reconcile  my  father  to  the  situation  in 
which  he  stood,  its  unpleasantness  would  have  been  scarcely  per- 


J  J  MEMOIRS  UP  GOE'l  Hi:- 

ceptible.  The  disinterestedness  of  the  Cotini  wub  extreme  ;  hé 
refused  even  the  advantages  attached  to  his  rank.  The  most  tri- 
lling presents  appeared  to  him  to  be  an  attempt  to  corrupt  him  ; 
and  such  endeavours  excited  his  anger,  and  sometimes  even 
drew  down  punishment  on  the  offenders.  His  people  had  ex- 
press orders  never  to  accept  of  any  thing  from  his  hosts.  On 
the  contrary,  we  children  were  invited  to  partake  of  the  dainties 
with  which  his  table  was  supplied.  To  give  an  idea  of  the  igno- 
rance and  sobriety  which  then  prevailed  in  Frankfort,  it  may 
suffice  to  mention,  that  my  mother  scolded  us  well  on  seeing  us 
about  to  eat  an  ice  which  the  count  had  sent  us.  She  threw  it 
out  at  the  window,  being  unable  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  di- 
gesting ice,  however  it  might  be  sugared. 

Besides  the  pleasure  these  little  windfalls  afforded  us,  we  en- 
joyed that  of  being  less  punctually  called  to  our  lessons,  and  of 
living  under  a  less  severe  discipline.  When  my  father  was  in 
an  ill-humour,  he  could  not  put  the  least  constraint  upon  him- 
self. How  often  did  he  declare  to  my  mother,  the  interpreter* 
the  senators,  and  all  his  friends,  his  extreme  impatience  to  get 
rid  of  the  Count  !  In  vain  was  it  represented  to  him  that  the  pre- 
sence of  such  a  guest  was,  under  the  circumstances,  a  most  for- 
tunate thing  ;  that  if  the  Count  should  remove,  there  would  be 
a  perpetual  succession  of  less  agreeable  guests,  officers,  or 
others.  Mr.  Goethe  was  deaf  to  all  arguments.  The  grievance 
of  the  moment  rendered  him  insensible  to  all  future  grievances. 

These  vexations  diminished  his  activity,  which  had  previously 
been  chiefly  directed  to  our  improvement.  He  no  longer  re- 
quired so  much  of  us  ;  we  therefore  thought  of  nothing  but  gra- 
tifying our  curiosity  as  much  as  possible,  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  with  exercises,  military  reviews,  and  every  thing  which 
excited  it. 

Most  of  the  disputes  brought  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Lieu» 
tenant  de  Roi  were  extremely  interesting  to  us.  His  decisions 
bore  a  stamp  peculiar  to  himself  ;  he  always  gave  them  in  a 
manner  which  showed  good  sense,  wit,  and  acuteness.  His 
orders  were  strict,  and  his  manner  of  giving  them  was  singular. 
He  seemed  to  have  taken  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  for  his  model. 
Not  a  day  passed,  but  the  interpreter  had  to  entertain  my  mother 
and  us  with  some  ai.ecdote  of  this  kind.  This  worthy  man  pre- 
served in  his  memory  a  little  collection  of  decisions  made  by  the 
count,  in  the  manner  of  Solomon.  Unluckily,  I  have  now  but  a 
vague  recollection  of  them. 

By  degrees  we  began  to  comprehend  the  original  character  of 
M.  de  Thorane.  He  wras  not  ignorant  of  his  own  singularities. 
He  was  subject  to  fits  of  passion,  and  hypochondriac  attacks,  or. 
as  people  said,  to  the  visits  of  an  evil  spirit.  These  fits  some  - 
times lasted  whole  days  ;  he  then  withdrew  inio  his  inner  apart- 
ment, and  was  visible  only  to  his  valet,  and  would  allow  no  one 
fo  disturb  him.  even  on  urgent  business.    But  as  soon  as  the  evii 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


35 


genius  had  left  him,  he  appeared  again  with  his  usual  mildness, 
serenity,  and  activity.  The  hints  dropped  by  Saint  Jean,  his 
valet  de  chambre,  led  us  to  surmise  that  some  great  misfortune 
had  formerly  happened  to  him,  and  that  to  avoid  discovering  the 
anguish  he  sometimes  endured  from  his  reflections,  to  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  he  thought  it  best  to  withdraw  from  all  observation. 
A  few  days  after  his  arrival,  he  sent  for  the  Frankfort  painters 
who  had  been  mentioned  to  him  :  Hirf,  Schutz,  Trautmann, 
Nothnagel,  and  Yunker;  of  whom  he  purchased  several  pictures 
which  they  brought  for  him  to  look  at.  My  little  turret,  which 
was  well-lighted,  was  immediately  converted  into  a  cabinet  of 
pictures  and  a  pointing-room.  The  Count  took  pleasure  in 
keeping  these  artists  constantly  occupied,  particularly  Seekaz  of 
Darmstadt.  He  sent  to  Grasse  for  all  the  pictures  with  which 
his  rooms  were  adorned,  covered  our  walls  with  them,  and  de- 
sired our  painters  to  copy  the  finest  of  them  in  oil.  The  work 
was  commenced  with  spirit.  Seekaz  was  employed  on  the  rural 
scenery.  He  excelled  in  painting  old  men  and  children  from 
nature;  but  was  less  successful  in  his  representations  of  young 
men,  which  were  thought  too  thin.  His  female  figures  were 
chargeable  with  the  opposite  defect.  His  wife  was  short,  stout, 
and  far  from  agreeable  in  person  ;  she  never  allowed  him  to  paint 
from  any  other  model  than  herself,  which  restriction  did  not 
contribute  to  the  beauty  of  his  productions  ;  on  ihe  contrary,  If 
led  him  to  make  all  his  figures  much  too  bulky.  There  was 
truth  in  his  landscape,  but  his  foliage  was  rather  scanty.  He 
was,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  a  pupil  of  Brinkmann,  whose 
easel  pictures  are  far  from  contemptible.  Schutz  had  the  art 
of  animating  the  Rhenish  landscape  with  the  rays  of  summer 
suns.  Trautmann,  who  painted  subjects  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment in  the  manner  of  Rembrandt,  set  villages  and  rustic  build- 
ings on  fire  with  his  colouring.  Hirt's  pencil  was  exercised  on 
woods  of  oak  and  beech.  Yunker,  who  usually  imitated  the 
Flemish  finishing,  scarcely  felt  himself  capable  of  undertaking 
these  tapestry  compositions.  However,  by  the  help  of  a  hand- 
some reward,  he  was  induced  to  embellish  several  of  them  with 
flowers  and  fruits. 

I  had  been  acquainted  with  these  artists  from  childhood,  and 
accustomed  to  frequent  their  painting  rooms.  The  Count  ad- 
mitted me  into  his  apartments,  and  thus  f  attended  the  painters 
when  they  were  at  work,  i  often  took  the  liberty  of  giving  my 
opinion  on  their  sketches.  I  was  already  celebrated  among 
amateurs  for  pointing  out  the  subject  of  a  picture  at  the  first 
glance  ;  and  it  was  difticult  to  meet  with  a  better  interpreter  of 
allegories  than  myself.  1  had  frequently  suggested  ideas  to  the 
artists.  1  took  a  real  pleasure  at  that  time  in  priding  myself  on 
my  faculties.  I  remember  dividing  the  history  of  Joseph  into 
twelve  pictures,  the  subjects  of  which  I  described,  and  some  of 
*hem  were  executed    Amidst  all  these  occupations,  wrhich  were^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


honourable  to  a  boy,  I  must  confess,  to  my  shame,  a  little  even? 
which  happened  to  me  in  this  circle  of  artists.  With  the  eager- 
ness of  a  child,  I  wished  to  see  and  examine  every  thing  that  was 
brought  into  my  turret.  One  day  J  perceived  behind  the  stove 
a  little  black  case,  and  raised  the  lid  without  hesitation,  when 
the  Count  suddenly  entered.  "Who  gave  you  leave  to  open 
that  case  ?"  said  he,  in  his  tone  of  Lieutenant  de  Roi.  I  could 
make  no  answer.  He  then  pronounced  my  punishment  with  a 
very  serious  air,  "  You  shall  not  enter  this  room  for  a  week,'7 
said  he  :  1  bowed,  and  withdrew.  I  obeyed  so  punctually,  that 
it  vexed  poor  Scekaz,  who  was  at  work  there,  and  was  always 
glad  to  sec  mc.  I  used  to  carry  him  his  coffee,  but  1  now  only 
placed  it  on  a  shelf  near  the  stairs  ;  he  was,  therefore,  obliged 
to  leave  his  work  in  order  to  come  and  take  it,  and  this  almost 
put  him  in  an  ill-humour  with  me. 

I  habituated  myself  to  speak  the  French  language  in  some  way 
or  other,  without  having  learnt  it.  I  must  explain  the  method 
I  adopted  for  this  purpose.  I  have  already  mentioned  that  Ï 
found  it  extremely  easy  to  acquire  the  sonorous  part  of  a  lan- 
guage, rhythm,  accent,  intonation,  and  all  that  may  be  said  to 
form  its  exterior.  This  natural  faculty  now  proved  very  useful 
to  me.  The  Latin  language  enabled  me  to  recognise  a  number 
of  words  ;  and  the  Italian  still  more.  In  a  short  time,  I  had  so 
often  heard  the  servants,  soldiers,  and  sentinels  speak,  that,  with- 
out being  as  yet  able  to  take  a  part  in  conversation,  I  ventured 
occasionally  to  put  questions  and  give  answers  in  French.  But 
what  chiefly  accelerated  my  progress,  was  the  theatre.  My 
grandfather  had  given  me  a  ticket  which  secured  my  admission; 
and  I  daily  made  use  of  it,  contrary  to  my  fathers  inclination, 
but  with  the  consent  of  my  mother.  I  used  to  station  myself  in 
the  pit  of  this  foreign  theatre  :  I  attended  chiefly  to  the  action  of 
the  piece,  the  dramatic  expression,  and  the  pantomime;  for  as 
I  understood  little  or  nothing  of  what  was  said,  J  could  only  be 
amused  with  the  gestures  and  delivery  of  the  performers.  It 
was  in  comedy  that  I  was  least  able  to  seize  the  meaning  of  the 
words.  The  actors  spoke  too  fast,  and  talked  of  familiar  things, 
the  names  of  which  were  unknown  to  mc.  They  seldom  played 
tragedy,  which  1  understood  much  better,  owing  to  its  measured 
diction,  Alexandrine  rhythm,  and  elevated  style,  expressive  of 
more  general  subjects.  !  soon  possessed  myself  of  a  Racine, 
which  I  found  in  my  father's  library.  I  began  to  declaim  dif- 
ferent parts  in  the  stage  manner,  as  well  as  my  ear  would  permit. 
J  performed  this  with  great  animation,  although  I  could  not  mas- 
ter the  sense  of  a  whole  speech.  I  got  several  pieces  by  rote, 
which  I  recited  almost  like  a  parrot  ;  I  had  already  learnt  in  the 
same  manner  many  passages  of  the  Bible,  of  which  I  scarcely 
understood  a  word,  and  nevertheless  1  often  repeated  them  in 
the  tone  of  a  protestant  preacher, 

I  soon  wanted  to  go  behind  the  scenes.    An  opportunity  spec- 


MEMOIRS   OP  GOETHE, 


:37 


ally  occurred.  I  had  not  always  patience  to  Lear  the  piece  oui\ 
and  I  often  sauntered  about  in  the  corridors  or  before  the  door, 
where  I  amused  myself  with  children  of  my  own  age.  A  lively 
handsome  boy,  who  belonged  to  the  company,  joined  our  sports. 
I  had  seen  him  play  several  little  parts.  With  some  difficulty 
I  made  him  understand  my  bad  French.  He  had  no  companion, 
cither  in  the  theatre  or  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  spoke  his  lan- 
guage, and  hence  he  became  the  more  attached  to  me.  Wc 
used  to  meet  out  of  the  hours  of  representation,  and  even  du- 
ring that  time  he  seldom  left  me  to  myself.  His  delightful  prat- 
tle was  inexhaustible.  He  had  always  an  endless  store  of  ad- 
ventures and  anecdotes  at  command.  My  progress  with  him 
was  rapid  ;  1  learned  more  in  our  conversations  in  one  month, 
than  I  should  otherwise  have  learnt  in  a  year.  Nobody  could 
comprehend  how  I  had  been  initiated  suddenly,  and  by  inspira- 
tion, as  it  were,  into  the  mysteries  of  a  foreign  language. 

At  the  very  commencement  of  our  acquaintance  he  took  me  be- 
hind the  scenes.  He  introduced  me  to  the  green-room,  where  the 
actors  and  actresses  remained  between  the  acts.  The  place  was 
not  convenient.  It  was  a  concert-room,  which  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  theatre,  and  which  contained  no  dressing-rooms 
for  the  actors.  Another  room,  tolerably  large,  intended  for 
play,  served  as  their  green-room.  Both  sexes  were  almost  al- 
ways intermixed  there.  They  changed  their  clothes  before  each 
other  with  as  little  ceremony  as  before  us  children,  and  not  al- 
ways with  the  most  scrupulous  decency.  1  had  never  before 
seen  any  such  proceedings  ;  but  I  soon  became  accustomed  to 
them,  and  thought  nothing  of  them. 

My  new  connexion  soon  produced  me  another  of  more  livelv 
and  particular  interest.  Young  De  Rônes  (such  was  the  name 
of  my  "little  actor)  was  a  lad  of  agreeable  manners  and  good  mo- 
rals, his  habit  of  romancing  always  excepted.  He  introduced 
me  to  his  sister,  who  was  two  years  older  than  ourselves  ;  she 
was  a  tall  well-made  girl,  with  an  agreeable  countenance,  regular 
features,  brown  complexion,  and  black  eyes  and  hair.  There 
was  a  remarkable  calmness,  and  a  tinge  of  melancholy  in  her  air. 
I  used  all  my  endeavours  to  please  her,  but  1  could  not  attract 
her  attention.  Girls  think  they  are  very  superior  to  boys  younger 
than  themselves  ;  and,  whilst  they  ogle  young  men,  they  assume 
a  maternal  tone  towards  children.  We  often  met  at  their  lodg- 
ings, whilst  their  mother  was  at  rehearsal,  or  in  company.  °[ 
never  went  without  flowers,  fruit,  or  some  other  trifle,  to  present 
to  my  adorable.  She  always  received  my  present  very  gra- 
ciously, and  thanked  me  with  much  politeness.  But  the  cloud 
of  sadness  which  obscured  her  face  never  dispersed  ;  nor  had  1 
ever  reason  to  imagine  she  had  thought  of  me.  At  length  J  fan- 
cied I  had  discovered  the  secret  cause  of  her  melancholy.  De 
Rônes  one  day  showed  me  a  portrait  in  crayons,  adorned  with 
elegant  silk  curtains,  behind  his  mother's  bed.    it  represented  a 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


handsome  man.  "  That,1'  said  he,  with  an  arch  look,  i;  is  got 
exactly  papa  ;  but  it  is  nearly  all  the  same."  He  then  began  to 
praise  the  original  of  the  portrait  in  the  highest  terms,  telling 
me  a  number  of  wonderful  stories  in  his  way.  From  all  his  rho- 
domontade  I  concluded  that  his  sister  was  a  legitimate  daughter, 
and  that  he  belonged  to  the  friend  of  the  family.  This  explained 
the  young  woman's  unhappiness,  and  increased  my  affection  for 
her. 

My  regard  for  her  aided  me  to  endure  the  follies  of  her  bro- 
ther/ which  were  sometimes  quite  extravagant.  He  already 
pretended  to  bravery,  and  was  continually  boasting  of  his  ex- 
ploits. According  to  his  account  he  had  frequently  fought,  but 
had  alwavs  avoided  wounding  his  adversary.  He  fought  only 
for  honour  :  at  one  perilous  moment  he  had  made  the  sword  fly 
out  of  his  opponent's  hand,  and  lodged  it  in  a  tree. 

My  ticket  gave  me  free  admission  to  every  part  of  the  house. 
According  to  the  custom  which  then  prevailed  in  France,  the 
part  of  the  stage  before  the  curtain  was  extremely  deep,  and  was 
furnished  on  both  sides  with  benches  separated  from  therstage 
by  a  low  railing.  The  rows  of  benches  were  raised  one  above 
another,  and  the  first  row  was  not  very  high.  These  were  the 
places  of  honour,  usually  occupied  by  the  officers,  although  the 
proximity  of  the  actors  destroyed,  1  will  not  say  all  illusion,  but 
all  pleasure.  I  have  witnessed  this  arrangement  of  the  stage,  or 
rather  this  ridiculous  custom,  of  which  Voltaire  so  often  com- 
plained. When  the  house  was  full,  and  there  were  officers 
îookino-  in  vain  for  honourable  seats,  which  were  all  occupied, 
another  row  of  benches  and  chairs  was  brought  on  the  stage  be- 
fore the  curtain,  and  sometimes  to  the  back  of  the  stage.  In 
the  narrow  space  which  was  thus  left  to  the  heroes  and  heroines, 
they  had  no  choice  but  to  disclose  all  their  secrets  to  the  crosses 
and  uniforms  by  which  they  were  surrounded.  In  such  a  pre- 
dicament have  1  seen  poor  Hypermnestra,  and  many  other  prin- 
cesses. 

I  must  mention  another  singular  custom,  which  to  me,  as  a 
crood  German  attached  to  the  properties  of  the  drama,  could 
not  fail  to  appear  extremely  revoking.  The  theatre  was  in 
some  decree  considered  as  sacred  ;  it  would  have  been  the 
o-reatest  offence  to  the  majesty  of  the  public  to  permit  the  slight- 
est disturbance  there.  Whenever,  therefore,  a  comedy  was  per- 
formed, two  armed  grenadiers  stood  in  sight  of  the  spectators  on 
the  two  sides  of  the  stage,  beyond  the  curtain.  Thus  they  wit- 
nessed all  that  passed  behind  the  scenes.  As  the  curtain  was 
not  let  down  between  the  acts,  two  other  grenadiers  were  seen 
to  come  from  the  side  scenes,  whilst  the  orchestra  was  playing, 
and  piace  themselves  before  the  former  two,  who  then  marched 
off  in  ordinary  time.  Was  not  this  admirably  calculated  to  de- 
stroy every  thing  like  what  is  theatrically  called  illusion  ?  Must 
ir  not  have  appeared  the  more  revolting,  at  a  period  when  the 


.M  EMU  IRS  Of  GOJUTHL. 


39 


principles  and  works  of  Diderot  were  recalling  nature  in  all  her 
truth  to  the  stage,  and  when  the  most  perfect  illusionwas  repre- 
sented as  the  essential  object  of  the  dramatic  art  ?  Tragedy, 
however,  was  exempt  from  these  police  regulations.  The  he- 
roes of  antiquity  were  allowed  the  privilege  of  guarding  them- 
selves. But  there  were  stili  grenadiers  at  hand,  behind  the  side 
scenes.  It  was  then  that  I  saw  Diderot's  Père  de  Famille  and 
Palissot's  Philosophes  represented,  1  still  remember  the  figure  of 
the  philosopher  walking  on  all-fours  and  eating  his  lettuce. 

The  varied  pleasures  of  the  drama  could  not,  however,  always 
retain  us  in  the  theatre.  When  the  weather  was  fine,  we  used 
to  amuse  ourselves  by  playing  before  the  door  or  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Our  boisterous  play  corresponded  ill  with  our  ap- 
pearance, particularly  on  Sundays  and  holidays  ;  for  we  were 
all  constantly  well  dressed,  with  our  hats  under  our  arms,  and 
swords  by  our  sides,  the  hilts  of  which  were  adorned  with  large 
silken  ribands.  One  day  when  we  were  amusing  ourselves  as 
usual,  De  Rônes,  who  had  joined  us,  took  it  into  his  head  that  I 
bad  offended  him,  and  owed  him  satisfaction.  Although  i  could 
not  comprehend  this  whim  of  his,  i  acceded  to  his  demand,  and 
prepared  to  tilt;  but  he  stopped  me,  saving  that  we  had  better 
seek  a  more  retired  spot,  where  we  might  fight  without  interrup- 
tion. We  therefore  withdrew  to  another  place,  and  put  our- 
selves in  posture.  The  duel  began  nearly  in  the  theatrical  man- 
ner. We  crossed  swrords  and  exchanged  thrusts.  But,  in  the  heat 
of  action,  the  point  of  his  sword  passed  through  the  knot  of 
riband  attached  to  the  guard  of  mine.  He  immediately  declared 
that  he  was  satisfied,  embraced  me  with  a  true  theatrical  air,  and 
we  repaired  together  to  a  neighbouring  coffee-house,  where  a 
pitcher  of  milk  calmed  our  minds,  and  made  us  better  friends 
than  ever. 

Ever  since  the  commencement  of  the  military  occupation  of 
our  city,  we  children  had  had  no  trouble  but  the  daily  taak  of 
choosing  our  amusements  :  the  theatre,  dances,  parades,  and  re- 
views, by  turns  attracted  our  attention.  The  last-mentioned 
diversion  was  that  w  hich  we  preferred.  Nothing  seemed  to  us 
more  amusing  or  gay  than  the  life  of  a  soldier. 

The  residence  of  the  Lieutenant  de  Roi  in  our  house  gave  us 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  most  distinguished  personages  of 
the  French  army,  and  of  making  our  observations  on  the  chiefs 
whom  report  had  already  made  known  to  us  by  name.  On  the 
staircase  or  in  the  gallery  we  could  very  conveniently  see  the; 
general  officers  pass  by  us.  The  Prince  de  Soubise  was  a  fine 
looking  man.  I  have  a  still  better  recollection  of  Marshal  Bro- 
glie,  who  was  a  middle-sized  young  man,  but  well  made  and 
lively,  with  a  keen  eye  and  a  resolute  countenance. 

He  paid  several  visits  to  the  Count  de  Thorane.  It  was  easy 
to  guess  that  the  subject  of  their  deliberations  must  be  of  impor- 
fance.    In  fact,  we  had  scarcely  been  accustomed  to  our  new 


40 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


situation  three  months,  when  report  began  to  whisper  the  march 
of  the  allies.  It  was  said  that  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  was  direct- 
ing his  march  on  the  Maine,  to  drive  the  French  from  that  river. 
The  latter  had  not  then  distinguished  themselves  by  any  re- 
markable exploit  ;  they  had  not  excited  a  high  opinion  of  their 
valour  ;  and  indeed,  since  the  battle  of  Rosbach,  people  con- 
sidered themselves  justified  in  thinking  very  lightly  of  them. 
Duke  Ferdinand,  on  the  contrary,  inspired  the  greatest  confi- 
dence, and  the  Prussian  party  impatiently  awaited  the  moment 
of  their  deliverance  from  their  adversaries.  My  father  was 
pretty  tranquil,  but  my  mother  was  very  uneasy.  She  had  sa- 
gacity enough  to  foresee  that  the  petty  vexations  of  the  moment 
might  be  succeeded  by  much  greater  calamities  :  for  it  was  easy 
to  perceive  that  the  intention  of  the  French  was  not  to  go  and 
meet  the  enemy,  but  to  wait  for  him  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
city.  The  defeat  and  flight  of  the  French  army,  its  resistance 
in  the  town  to  cover  a  retreat,  and  keep  possession  of  the  bridge 
over  the  Maine — bombardment,  pillage,  and  all  the  chances  of 

War  now  occurred  to  the  timid,  and  excited  alarm  in  both 

parties.  My  mother,  who  could  not  bear  these  apprehensions, 
mentioned  them  to  our  guest,  by  means  of  the  interpreter.  She 
received  the  customary  answer  in  such  cases — that  she  need  not 
be  alarmed,  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  and  that  she  must  not 
say  a  word  on  the  subject  to  any  one. 

Great  numbers  of  troops  marched  through  the  city.  It  was 
found  that  they  had  taken  position  at  Bergen.  Horsemen  and 
foot  soldiers  were  now  continually  coming  and  going,  with  still 
increasing  activity.  Our  house  was  day  and  night  the  centre  of 
a  tumultuous  bustle.  At  this  period  I  frequently  saw  Marshal 
Broçlie.  He  was  always  calm  :  neither  his  countenance  nor 
his  actions  betrayed  the  least  agitation  of  mind.  I  was  after- 
wards much  gratified  on  finding  that  a  man,  who  had  excited  in 
me  so  high  an  opinion  of  his  character,  had  obtained  a  distin- 
guished name  in  history. 

This  tumult  was  soon  succeeded  by  a  profound  quiet,  which 
was  only  the  forerunner  of  the  storm.  The  children  were  for- 
bidden to  leave  the  house.  My  father,  being  unable  to  remain 
quiet,  went  out.  The  battle  began.  I  got  on  the  top  of  the 
house.  1  could  not  see  the  field,  but  I  disiinctly  heard  the  can- 
nonade and  musquetry.  A  few  hours  after,  we  saw  the  first  re- 
sults of  the  battle.  A  file  of  waggons,  laden  with  poor  wound- 
od  creatures,  ^pressing  their  sufferings  by  their  cries  and  ges* 
lures,  passed  before  our  eyes.  This  spectacle  excited  the  com- 
passion of  the  inhabitants.  Beer,  bread,  wine,  and  money,  were 
eagerly  offered  to  those  who  were  still  in  a  state  to  receive  suc- 
cour. But  when  the  Germans  who  were  wounded  and  taken 
prisoners  began  to  arrive,  the  sensibility  of  the  inhabitants  seemed 
unbounded.    One  would  have  thought  they  were  ready  to  de- 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE, 


41 


prive  themselves  of  all  they  possessed,  to  relieve  their  unfortu- 
nate countrymen. 

The  great  number  of  German  prisoners  was  an  ill  omen  foi 
the  allies.  My  father,  too  confident  in  the  superiority  of  the 
party  he  was  favourable  to,  was  impatient  to  go  and  meet  those 
whom  he  already  regarded  as  the  victors.  He  first  went  to  his 
garden  by  the  Friedberg  gate  :  all  was  solitary  and  quiet  there. 
He  ventured  as  far  as  the  meadows  of  Bornheim  :  there  he  fell 
in  with  some  dispersed  skirmishers,  who  were  firing  musquetry 
near  the  barrier.  The  balls  whistled  about  the  ears  of  the  in- 
quisitive intruder,  who  deemed  it  expedient  to  beat  a  retreat. 
On  questioning  persons  who  were  passing  and  repassing,  he  as- 
certained what  he  might  have  presumed  from  the  retiring  of  the 
cannonade —that  the  French  were  victorious,  and  that  their  re- 
treat was  not  now  to  be  expected.  He  came  home  in  despair* 
At  the  sight  of  the  wounded  and  prisoners  he  lost  all  command 
of  himself.  He  ordered  assistance  to  be  given  to  those  who 
were  passing — but  only  to  the  Germans,  which  was  not  always 
possible,  fortune  having,  for  the  moment,  mingled  friends  and 
enemies  without  distinction  in  promiscuous  heaps. 

IVly  mother,  my  sister,  and  I  were  already  cheered  by  the  con- 
solatory expressions  of  the  Count  de  Thorane,  and  the  day  had 
appeared  to  us  less  painful.  We  soon  began  to  resume  our  usual 
good  humour.  My  mother  had  another  source  of  confidence. 
She  had  consulted  a  fortune-teller  in  the  morning,  whose  answer 
had  been  encouraging,  both  with  respect  to  the  present  and  the 
future.  We  were  anxious  to  inspire  my  father  with  the  same 
confidence.  We  did  all  we  could  to  dissipate  his  melancholy. 
He  had  taken  no  sustenance  all  day  :  we  pressed  him  to  eat  ; 
but  he  was  deaf  to  all  our  entreaties.  He  withdrew  to  his  own 
apartment  :  we,  nevertheless,  gave  ourselves  up  to  the  joy  of 
seeing  the  affair  decided.  M.  de  Thorane,  contrary  to  his  usual 
custom,  had  been  on  horseback  the  whole  of  the  day  :  he  re- 
turned. His  presence  was  more  necessary  than  ever.  We  ran 
to  meet  him  ;  we  kissed  his  hands,  loudly  expressing  our  joy. 
This  reception  seemed  to  give  him  great  pleasure  :  he  ordered 
some  preserves  and  sweet  wines  to  be  given  to  us,  desired  bis 
people  to  regale  us  well,  and  proceeded  to  his  drawing-room  amidst 
a  multitude  of  petitioners  who  accompanied  him. 

A  magnificent  collation  was  set  before  us.  My  father's  ab- 
sence distressed  us  ;  we  entreated  my  mother  to  call  him.  She, 
however,  knew  better  than  we  did,  how  far  from  agreeable  to 
him  this  little  entertainment  would  be.  She  had,  however, 
taken  care  to  have  something  got  ready  for  supper,  and  would 
gladly  have  sent  part  of  it  to  him  in  his  room.  But  in  no  case 
would  my  father  have  suffered  this  violation  of  rules.  My 
mother,  therefore,  had  the  collation  removed,  and  went  to  ask 
him  to  come  down  into  the  dining-room,  which' he  consented  to 
do,  although  reluctantly.    Little  did  we  foresee  the  misfortune 

F 


MiiJUOliVS   U>'  GuiiiTJrl't. 


about  to  ensue  from  our  request.  From  the  too  of  the  house  to 
the  bottom,  the  stairease  communicated  with  all  the  aniecham- 
bers.  It  was,  therefore,  impossible  for  my  father  to  avoid  being 
seen  as  he  passed  by  the  Count's  apart mems  in  coming  down. 
The  antechamber  was  so  full,  that,  to  despatch  the  business  cf 
those  who  were  waiting  with  the  greater  expedition,  M.  de  Tho- 
rane  had  stationed  himself  in  it,  and  was  there  at  the  moment 
when  my  father  came  down  stairs.  The  Count  advanced  to- 
wards him,  saluted  him,  and  said — "  It  was  highly  desirable, 
both  for  you  and  us,  that  this  perilous  affair  should  end  so  hap- 
pily." "  Happily  !5'  replied  my  father  angrily.  u  Would  to 
God  they  had  sent  you  all  to  the  devil,  even  if  f  had  gone  with 
you  for  company  !"  The  Count  stood  for  a  moment  disconcert- 
ed, and  then  cried  out  in  a  violent  passion, — "  Such  an  insult  to 
the  good  cause,  and  to  myself,  shall  not  remain  unpunished!" 

In  the  mean  time  my  father  had  gone  down  into  the  dining- 
room.  He  took  his  place  among  us,  appeared  more  at  his 
ease  than  before,  and  began  to  eat.  We  were  delighted  to  see 
him  more  calm,  little  suspecting  in  what  manner  he  had  given 
vent  to  the  feelings  that  oppressed  his  heart.  Soon  afterwards 
my  mother  was  called  out  of  the  room.  We  then  tried  to  enter- 
tain my  father  with  an  account  of  the  collation  with  which  M, 
de  Thorane  had  treated  us.  But  my  mother  did  not  return.  At 
length  the  interpreter  came  in.  On  a  sign  which  he  made,  we 
"were  sent  to  bed.  It  was  after  a  good  night's  sleep  that  we 
heard,  next  morning,  of  the  calamity  with  which  we  had  been 
menaced  the  preceding  evening.  The  Count  had  immediately 
given  orders  to  conduct  my  father  to  prison.  His  people  well 
knew  that  his  commands  were  not  to  be  disputed  ;  but  they  also 
remembered  that  he  had  several  times  been  obliged  by  their  de- 
laying the  execution  of  them.  This  the  worthy  interpreter,  whose 
presence  of  mind  never  deserted  him,  warmly  represented  to 
them.  It  was  he  who  had  sent  for  my  mother.  He  had  placed 
lier  under  the  protection  of  an  officer,  in  order  that  she  might, 
in  case  of  necessity,  obtain  at  least  a  delay  of  the  execution  of 
the  order,  by  her  representations  and  entreaties.  He  himself 
immediately  went  to  the  Count,  who,  after  giving  his  orders,  had 
retired  into  his  apartment.  He  had  thought  it  preferable  to 
abandon  for  a  moment  all  attention  even  to  the  most  urgent  af- 
fairs, to  running  the  risk  of  venting  his  ill- humour  on  some  inno- 
cent person,  or  giving  some  decision  that  might  have  injured  his 
character  in  his  own  estimation. 

The  honest  interpreter  used  so  often  to  repeat  his  conference 
with  the  Count  to  us,  that  I  can  still  give  an  accurate  account 
of  it. 

He  had  ventured  to  open  the  door  of  the  closet  and  to  go  in, 
notwithstanding  the  express  and  severe  prohibition  of  all  such 
freedoms. 

*  What  do  you  want  ?"  cried  the  Count  in  a  passion.    w  Be« 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


gone  !  No  one  but  Saint  Jean  1ms  a  right  to  enter  here. — Sup- 
pose for  a  moment  that  I  were  St.  Jean  ? — A  fine  idea  !  I  had 
rather  see  two  sucli  as  he  than  one  like  you  :  withdraw. — M.  lc 
Comte,  heaven  has  endowed  you  with  a  quality  which  is  not 
common  ;  and  to  that  quality  it  is  that  I  appeal. — You  think  to. 
gain  . me  over  by  flattery  :  you  will  not  succeed. — Yes,  M,  le 
Comte,  you  are  endowed  with  an  uncommon  quality  ;  for  you 
can  listen  to  what  one  has  to  say  to  you,  even  in  a  moment  of 
anger. — Well,  well  :  I  have  listened  too  long  to  what  has  been 
said  to  me.  î  now  know  how  we  are  liked  here,  and  what  well- 
wishers  we  have  in  these  townspeople. — Not  all  — Too  many 
by  far.  What  would  these  citizens  of  an  imperial  town  have  ? 
They  saw  their  emperor  elected  and  crowned  ;  and  when  he  is 
unjustly  attacked,  and  in  danger  of  losing  his  states,  and  seeing 
them  invaded  by  an  usurper — when,  luckily  for  him,  he  finds 
faithful  allies  who  sacrifice  their  money  and  their  blood  for  him 
— they  will  not  endure  the  slightest  burthen,  even  for  their  own 
interest,  and  are  unwilling  to  have  their  enemy  beaten.  —  You 
Iiave  long  been  acquainted  with  their  opinions,  and  have  wisely 
tolerated  them.  Besides  those  who  think  thus  are  the  less  nu- 
merous party.  You  know  it  is  a  small  minority  only  who  allow 
themselves  to  be  dazzled  by  the  brilliant  qualities  of  the  enemy 
— who  even  admire  him  as  an  extraordinary  man. — Yes  ;  I  have 
long  known  it,  and  suffered  it  :  otherwise  this  man  here  would 
never  have  dared  on  such  an  occasion  to  insult  me  in  this  man- 
ner to  my  face.  Whatever  may  be  the  number  of  these  malevo- 
lent persons,  it  is  time  they  should  be  punished  in  the  person  of 
their  rash  interpreter  ;  it  will  be  a  le«son  for  them. — Grant  onl) 
a  little  delay. —  In  some  cases  one  cannot  proceed  too  rapidly. 
— Only  a  short  delay. — Do  you  think  to  lead  me  into  a  false  step> 
my  good  fellow  ?  You  will  be  disappointed. — I  neither  wish  to 
lead  you  into,  nor  prevent  you  from  committing  one.  You  have 
the  right  to  punish,  as  a  Frenchman,  as  Lieutenant  de  Roi  ;  but 
do  not  forget,  at  the  same  tim^,  (hat  you  are  the  Count  de  Tho- 
rane. — Who  has  nothing  further  to  hear  or  say. — Yet  he  ought 
to  listen  to  an  honest  man. — -What  more  can  the  honest  man 
have  to  say  ? — M  Lieutenant  de  Roi,  this  is  what  be  has  to  say  : 
You  have  long  tolerated  the  ill  will  of  persons  who  offered  you 
no  offence.  This  one  has  grievously  offended  you.  Triumph 
over  your  resentment:  every  one  wiii  applaud  and  esteem  you 
the  more  for  it — You  well  know  that  I  frequently  tolerate  your 
jests  ;  but  do  not  abuse  my  indulgence.  Are  these  people  abso- 
lute1}' blind?  What  would  be  their  situation  at  this  moment,  if 
we  had  lost  the  battle  ?  We  should  have  fought  at  the  gates  of 
the  town  ;  we  should  have  maintained  ourselves  in  it  to  <  over 
our  retreat.  Do  you  think  the  enemy  would  have  had  their 
hands  in  their  pockets  ?  that  they  would  not  have  made  use  o£ 
every  means  in  their  power  to  set  your  houses  on  fire?  What 
would  this  citizen  have  7  Does  he  want  a  shell  to  fall  in  &i& 


44 


MEMOIRS  OF  OOËTHK. 


room,  the  hangings  of  which  I  have  taken  care  of,  and  would 
not  even  allow  my  maps  to  be  affixed  to  ?  The)*  ought  to  have 
been  all  day  praying  for  us.  — Many  of  them  were  so. — They 
should  have  invoked  the  blessing  of  heaven  on  our  arms  ;  gone 
out  to  meet  our  general  and  his  officers,  with  crowns  in  their 
hands,  and  carried  refreshments  to  the  troops.  Instead  of  such 
conduct,  this  accursed  spirit  of  party  has  just  poisoned  the  best, 
the  happiest  moment  of  my  life,  purchased  with  so  many  cares 
and  fatigues.  — It  is  an  aci  of  party  spirit.  The  punishment  of 
this  man  will  only  increase  it.  Those  who  are  of  his  way 
of  thinking  will  set  up  the  cry  of  tyranny  and  barbarity.  They 
will  look  upon  him  as  a  martyr  suffering  for  the  good  cause. 
Those  of  the  opposite  party  who  are  now  his  adversaries  will 
then  regard  him  only  as  a  fellow-citizen,  will  pity  him  ;  and 
whilst  they  acknowledge  our  right  to  punish,  they  will  accuse  us 
of  rigour.  —  I  have  had  the  patience  to  listen  to  you  for  along 
time  :  will  you  leave  me  to  myself? — One  word  more.  Recol- 
lect that  any  misfortune  that  may  happen  to  this  manor  his  family 
will  appear  revolting.  The  master  of  the  house  has  given  you 
cause  to  consider  him  as  malevolent  ;  but  his  wife  has  done  her 
utmost  to  anticipate  all  your  wishes.  His  children  have  beha- 
ved to  you  as  a  beloved  relation.  Will  you  destroy  for  ever 
the  peace  and  happiness  of  this  family  by  punishing  the  head 
of  it  ?  A  shell  bursting  in  the  house  would  certainly  not  have 
produced  a  great  calamity.  M.  le  Comte,  I  have  often  admit- 
redyour  moderation:  give  me  another  opportunity  of  doing 
honour  to  it.  It  is  glorious  for  a  warrior  to  act,  in  the  house  of 
an  enemy,  as  the  friend  of  the  family  :  and  here  it  is  not  an  ene- 
my that  you  have  to  do  with,  but  a  misled  man.  Con- 
quer your  resentment;  it  will  be  an  immortal  honour  to  you. — 
That  would  be  truly  admirable,"  answered  the  Count,  laugh- 
ing.— "  It  is  the  simple  truth,*'  replied  the  interpreter.  I 
have  not  sent  the  mother  and  her  children  to  throw  themselves 
at  your  feet:  I  know  that  such  scenes  are  annoying  to  you; 
but  represent  to  yourself  the  gratitude  they  must  fee*.  Figure 
to  yourself  this  family,  cherishing  throughout  life  the  remem- 
brance of  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Bergen,  and  relating  the  sto- 
ry of  your  magnanimity  on  each  succeeding  anniversary,  teach- 
ing it  to  their  children  and  grand-children,  and  endeavouring  to 
impart,  even  to  strangers,  their  own  sentiments  of  attachment 
to  you. — Mr.  Interpreter,  what  you  say  does  not  affect  me.  I 
do  not  think  of  posterity;  it  will  belong  to  others,  not  to  me. 
But  to  fulfil  with  punctuality  my  duty  for  the  time  being,  and  to 
preserve  my  honour  with  vigilant  care,  these  are  the  objects 
that  engage  my  attention.  We  have  talked  too  long  on  this  bu- 
siness :  withdraw;  and  go  and  receive  the  thanks  of  the  un- 
grateful man,  whom  I  forgive." 

The  worthy  interpreter  was  so  much  surprised  and  affected  by 
this  unhoped-for  conclusion,  that  he  could  not  refrain  from  tears. 


.MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


43 


He  attempted  to  kiss  the  Count's  hands.  But  the  latter,  in- 
stantly drawing  back,  said  in  a  grave  and  severe  tone — "  You 
know  I  dislike  such  ceremonies."  And  he  immediately  passed 
into  the  antechamber,  to  hear  the  demands  of  the  crowd  that 
waited  for  him.  Thus  ended  this  day  of  alarm.  The  next 
morning  we  feasted  on  the  remnants  of  the  fine  dessert  of  the 
preceding  evening,  in  celebration  of  the  happy  result  of  a  dan- 
gerous event,  from  the  anxieties  of  which  we  had  been  saved  by 
a  propitious  sleep. 

Whether  our  friend  the  interpreter  really  was  so  eloquent,  or 
whether  his  imagination  thus  embellished  the  scene  between  the 
Count  and  himself,  as  often  happens  in  the  relation  of  a  good 
and  noble  action,  I  never  had  an  opportunity  of  deciding  :  all 
that  I  can  with  certainty  affirm  is,  that  he  always  related  it  to 
us  in  this  manner  without  variation  This  day  was  in  his  esti- 
mation the  most  painful,  but  at  the  same  time  the  most  glorious, 
of  his  life. 

After  these  anxious  and  afflicting  occurrences,  we  soon  re- 
sumed our  usual  tranquillity,  and  that  easy  humour  which  looks 
not  beyond  the  present  hour,  and  is  the  usual  inheritance  of 
youth.  My  passionate  attachment  to  the  French  theatre  con- 
stantly increased.  I  never  missed  a  single  representation,  al- 
though when  I  came  home  at  night  I  was  often  obliged  to  put  up 
with  some  remnants  of  supper,  and  had  to  endure  my  father's 
reproaches.  In  his  opinion  the  theatre  was  a  frivolous  amuse- 
ment, which  could  never  do  me  any  good.  I  answered  him  with 
all  the  arguments  of  the  friends  of  the  drama  :  that  poetical  jus- 
tice restores  the  equilibrium  between  triumphant  vice  and  un- 
happy virtue,  &c.  I  quoted  the  finest  examples  of  the  punish- 
ment of  the  guilty  ;  I  appealed  with  animation  to  "  Miss  Sarah 
Sampson,"  and  "  The  London  Merchant."  I  passed  slightly 
over  "  The  Cheats  of  Scapin,"  and  similar  pieces  :  thus  eluding 
the  objection  which  is  drawn  from  the  bad  effect  of  a  public  apo- 
logy for  the  tricks  of  roguish  valets  and  the  follies  of  harebrained 
youths.  Each  of  us  retained  his  former  opinion,  as  disputants 
generally  do.  But  my  father  was  . soon  reconciled  to  the  theatre 
on  perceiving  my  rapid  progress  in  the  French  language. 

We  are  all  naturally  inclined  to  try  to  do  what  we  have  seen 
others  do,  without  consulting  our  own  capacity.  1  had  rapidly  run 
through  almost  the  whole  circle  of  the  French  dramatic  pieces  : 
from  the  noblest  tragedies  to  the  lightest  comedies,  I  had  skim- 
med over  the  whole.  When  a  child  I  had  ventured  to  imitate 
Terence  :  now  that  I  was  a  youth  I  did  not  lose  so  fine  an  op- 
portunity of  attempting  to  imitate  the  French  poets.  Dramatic 
pieces,  half  mythological  and  half  allegorical,  in  the  style  of 
Piron,  were  then  fashionable.  These  productions,  which  had 
some  affinity  with  parodies,  were  much  relished.  To  me  they 
were  highly  attractive.  I  was  pleased  with  the  gilt  wings  and 
the  sprightliness  of  Mercury,  the  thunder  of  Jupiter,  and  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  COETHfc. 


beauty  of  a  Danni ,  or  some  other  fair  one—  shepherdess,  per- 
haps, or  huntress — taming  some  great  divinity.  The  subjects 
that  ran  in  my  head  were  taken  from  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  or 
Pomey's  Mythological  Pantheon,  I  soon  invented  the  plan  of 
an  affair  of  this  kind  ;  of  which  all  I  can  now  say  is,  that  plenty 
of  kings*  daughters,  princes,  and  divinities  figured  in  my  pastoral. 

When  1  had  made  a  fair  copy  of  my  dramatic  composition  with 
great  pains,  I  read  it  to  my  friend  De  Rônes,  who  heard  it  with 
an  air  of  benevolent  condescension.  He  glanced  over  my  ma- 
nuscript, pointed  out  a  few  errors  in  the  language,  and  some  pas- 
sages too  lengthy,  and  finally  promised  to  examine  it  attentively, 
I  asked  him,  in  a  timid  tone,  whether  he  thought  it  possible  that 
it  might  he  performed.  He  gave  me  hopes  of  it.  He  had  man}' 
friends  in  the  theatre,  he  said,  and  he  would  support  me  with  all 
his  power.  But  secrecy  was  indispensable.  A  piece  which  he 
had  composed,  and  which  was  ready  to  be  played,  had  been  laid 
aside  the  moment  lie  had  been  suspected  to  be  the  author.  I 
promised  silence,  and  already  fancied  I  saw  the  title  of  my  piece 
in  large  characters  in  the  bills  posted  at  the  corners  of  the  streets 
and  squares. 

With  all  his  levity,  he  did  rot  lose  so  fine  an  opportunity  of 
plaj'ing  the  pedagogue,  a  character  he  was  very  fond  of.  He 
read  my  piece  with  attention  ;  and  when  we  again  met,  in  order 
to  make,  as  he  said,  a  few  slight  alterations,  he  pulled  it  to  pieces 
for  me  so  unmercifully,  that  he  did  not  leave  one  stone  upon 
another  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  He  struck  out  some 
passages,  added  others,  suppressed  this  character,  introduced 
that  ;  and,  in  short,  exercised  so  rigid  a  censorship  over  my  poor 
piece  that  he  made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  Being  fully  per- 
suaded of  his  capacity,  I  let  him  do  a<=  he  pleased.  He  had  con- 
stantly in  his  mouth  the  rule  of  the  three  unities,  the  regularity 
of  the  French  theatre,  probability,  the  harmony  of  verse,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  I  had  implicit  faith  in  his  information.  He 
laughed  at  the  English  and  German  theatres.  In  short,  he  con- 
tinually repeated  to  me  that  litany  of  dramatists  which  has  been 
dinned  in  my  ears  throughout  my  life. 

I  carried  off  the  unlucky  offspring  of  my  brain  in  scraps.  All 
my  efforts  to  restore  it  to  life  were  made  in  vain.  Being,  how- 
ever, unwilling  to  sacrifice  it  entirely,  I  made  some  alterations 
in  my  work.  I  then  had  it  copied,  and  presented  it  to  my 
father  ;  who  was  so  much  pleaded  with  it,  that  for  some  time  he 
allowed  me  to  eat  my  supper  in  peace. 

This  unfortunate  attempt  had  rendered  me  extremely  pensive. 
)  determined  to  investignte  the  origin  of  these  theories,  these 
rules  so  incessantly  appealed  to,  and  respecting  which  the  harsh- 
ness and  pedantry  of  my  Mentor  had  awakened  my  doubts.  I 
began  with  Corneille's  Treatise  on  the  Three  Unities.  I  easily 
comprehended  these  rules  ;  but  the  reasons  of  them  did  not  ap- 
pear so  clear  to  me.    I  was  still  more  embarrassed  when  1  read 


MEMOIRS   Uï  GOËlifE. 


47 


the  observations  on  the  Cid,  and  the  prefaces  in  which  Corneiil?; 
and  Racine  defend  their  compositions  against  the  critics,  and 
even  against  the  public.  What  appeared  to  me  most  unequivocal 
was,  that  the  disputants  did  not  understand  each  other.  I  had 
studied  Racine  with  particular  attention  ;  I  had  even  played  the 
part  of  Nero,  in  Britannicus,  when  the  performance  of  that  piece 
was  attempted  by  us  and  other  children,  under  the  direction  of 
the  senator  Olenschlager.  What  was  I  to  think  on  finding  that 
a  piece  like  the  Cid,  that  magnificent  creation  of  genius,  had 
been  condemned  by  order  of  an  all-powerful  minister  ? — thai 
Racine,  that  demigod  of  the  French  stage,  who  had  also  become 
a  divinity  to  me,  was  unable  in  his  lifetime  to  satisfy  either  the 
many  amateurs,  or  the  few  competent  judges.  All  these  con- 
tradictions embarrassed  me  excessively.  1  long  puzzled  myself 
with  endeavouring  to  reconcile  all  the  difficulties  of  this  pedantic 
theory.  Wearied  at  length  with  these  fruitless  efforts,  I  gave  up 
the  whole  system.  I  was  particularly  led  to  adopt  this  resolu- 
tion, by  my  conviction,  that  the  authors  of  the  finest  works,  when 
they  began  to  enter  into  dissertations  upon  them,  to  elucidate 
their  conceptions,  and  to  explain  and  defend  them,  did  not  always 
understand  themselves.  1  returned  to  feed  on  the  effects  of  the 
theatre  :  I  frequented  it  more  assiduously  than  ever.  I  read  the 
poets  regularly,  and  meditated  on  what  1  read.  1  then  studied 
more  profoundly  the  whole  of  Racine's  and  Molière's  works,  and 
the  best  of  those  of  Corneille. 

The  Count  de  Thorane  still  resided  at  our  house.  There  was 
no  alteration  in  his  manners,  especially  with  regard  to  us  ;  but 
although  he  still  showed  the  same  inflexible  regard  to  justice  and 
the  strict  performance  of  his  duty,  he  no  longer  exercised  his 
functions  with  the  same  serenity  as  formerly.  His  zeal  had  di- 
minished. His  manners  and  deportment,  which  were  rather 
Spanish  than  French  ;  his  eccentricities,  which  would  occasion- 
ally appe-ir  eveu  in  business  ;  his  inflexibility,  and  his  attach- 
ment to  the  prerogatives  of  his  place,  could  not  fail  to  embroil 
him  occasionally  with  his  superiors,  it  was  no  doubt  owing  to 
some  of  his  peculiarities  of  temper,  that  he  got  into  a  quarrel  at 
the  theatre,  the  result  of  which  was  a  duel,  in  which  he  was 
wounded.  It  was  thought  very  unbecoming  for  the  head  of  the 
police  himself  thus  to  set  an  example  of  violating  the  laws.  All 
these  circumstances  together,  had  the  effect  of  estranging  him 
more  than  ever  from  society,  and  of  sometimes  weakening  his 
natural  energy. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  painters  whom  he  employed  had  finished 
their  work.  He  conceived  the  idea  of  setting  them  to  execute 
pictures,  in  which  each  of  them  was  to  employ  his  peculiar  talent: 
one  was  to  paint  the  men,  another  the  women,  a  third  the  chil- 
dren, and  a  fourth  the  landscape  ;  and  all  this  on  th  !  same  can- 
vass :— a  whimsical  plan,  the  only  effect  of  which  was  to  render 


48 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


the  artists  dissatisfied,  and  to  excite  emulations  among  them, 
which  were  on  the  point  of  producing  lasting  animosities. 

AJy  Hither  still  sighed  for  the  moment  of  M.  de  Thorane's  de- 
parture. Nothing  remained  to  attach  the  Count  to  our  house, 
after  he  had  sent  away  his  pictures  to  his  own  country,  and  he 
was  himself  desirous  to  change  his  residence.  They  parted  po- 
litely. The  Count  soon  a  iter  wards  left  the  city.  We  were  in- 
formed, that  he  was  successively  appointed  to  several  situations, 
often  against  his  own  wishes.  Fie  sent  some  original  pictures 
to  Frankfort,  to  have  copies  made  by  the  masters  before  men- 
tioned. At  length  we  ceased  to  hear  or  him.  Long  afterwards 
we  were  informed  that  he  died  in  a  French  colony  in  America, 
of  which  he  was  governor. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Afteh  the  Count's  departure  every  thing  at  our  house  re- 
turned into  its  accustomed  routine.  We  resumed  the  course  of 
our  studies,  and  my  father  wished  us  to  compensate  for  lost 
time  by  extraordinary  exertions.  Our  hours  were  divided  be- 
tween drawing,  music,  and  the  study  of  languages.  Mr.  Goëthe 
held  it  as  a  principle,  that  the  most  certain  way  to  bring  young 
scholars  forward  was  to  become  a  scholar  among  them.  He  had 
never  learnt  to  draw.  He  now  commenced  drawing  with  inde- 
fatigable ardour,  and  his  perseverance  and  rapid  progress  exci- 
ted our  emulation.  We  commenced  the  study  of  music  with 
equal  eagerness.  Our  harpsichord  master  had  the  whimsical 
custom  of  giving  ridiculous  names  to  the  fingers  and  keys.  The 
amusement  this  buffoonery  afforded  us  rendered  our  apprentice- 
ship easy  to  us.  We  were  also  attended  by  an  English  master, 
who  flattered  himself  that  he  could  teach  that  language  in  a 
month's  lessons.  We  studied  successfully  during  the  prescribed 
month.  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  reduce  my  exercises  into  the 
form  of  a  correspondence  among  young  students  travelling  in  dif- 
ferent countries,  and  sending  each  other  accounts  of  their  tra- 
vels and  labours.  I  had  introduced  into  this  little  romance  a 
ridiculous  personage  speaking  the  jargon  of  the  German  Jews. 
This  suggested  to  me  the  necessity  of  ascending  to  pure  He- 
brew ;  and  my  father,  entering  into  my  ideas,  sent  me  to  take 
lessons  in  Hebrew  of  a  Doctor  Albert,  rector  of  our  Gymna- 
sium ;  a  singular  old  man,  who  never  read  any  thing  but  Lucian 
and  the  Bible.  1  availed  myself  of  my  Hebrew  course  to  clear 
up,  with  the  assistance  of  my  pedagogue,  the  difficulties  that  oc- 
curred to  me  in  the  Old  Testament.  I  freely  expressed  my 
doubts  to  him  ;  he  laughed  at  them,  and  furnished  me  with  the 
means  of  satisfying  myself.  For  this  purpose,  I  derived  great 
resistance  from  a  German  translation  of  an  English  Bible,  with 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


4* 


a  well- written  explanation  of  the  most  important  and  difficult 
passages.  The  translators,  after  stating  the  various  opinions, 
endeavoured  to  reconcile  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  preserve 
at  the  same  time  the  respect  due  to  these  sacred  books,  the  foun- 
dations of  religion,  and  the  principles  of  reason.  This  work, 
even  more  esteemed  than  the  original  English,  was  of  the  great- 
est service  to  me,  and  effectually  contributed  to  settle  my  ideas 
on  religion. 

This  study  of  the  sacred  books  concentrated  on  one  single 
point  all  my  scattered  acquirements — all  the  powers  of  my  under- 
standing and  judgment.  I  am  unable  to  describe  the  sensation 
of  internal  peace  which  I  experienced,  when  I  could  penetrate 
into  the  profound  meaning  of  these  wondrous  writings.  When 
my  too  active  imagination  led  me  astray — when  fable  and  history, 
mythology  and  religion,  mingling  in  my  mind,  left  my  ideas  con- 
fused—I took  refuge  in  those  ancient  Oriental  countries;  I 
plunged  into  the  first  books  of  Moses  :  and  among  those  races 
of  shepherds  who  peopled  Asia,  I  found  at  once  the  charms  of 
the  deepest  solitude,  when  my  fancy  wandered  in  the  wilder- 
ness ;  and  those  of  the  most  agreeable  and  sweetest  society,  when 
1  imagined  myself  beneath  the  tents  of  the  patriarchs. 

The  history  of  these  ancient  families,  before  it  is  lost  in  that 
of  the  people  of  Israel,  attracts  our  parting  observations  to  a  sin- 
gle figure  of  the  most  fascinating  aspect,  particularly  to  the  hope- 
ful buoyancy  and  smiling  imagination  of  youth.  How  powerful 
is  the  interest  attached  to  Joseph,  the  child  of  the  most  passion- 
ate love,  born  in  wedlock  !  Fie  always  appears  to  us  calm  and 
mild — even  when,  animated  for  the  first  time  with  the  prophetic 
spirit,  he  announces  the  superiority  he  is  destined  to  obtain  over 
his  own  family.  Precipitated  into  adversity  by  his  brethren,  he 
preserves  his  fortitude  and  his  virtue  in  slavery,  resists  the  most 
dangerous  seductions,  and  owes  his  safety  only  to  his  profound 
wisdom.  His  merit  and  services  raise  him  to  the  highest  honours. 
He  preserves  an  immense  empire,  and  becomes  the  saviour  of 
his  own  family.  Equal  to  his  ancestor  Abraham  in  his  confidence 
in  God  and  his  greatness  of  mind,  he  is  also  the  rival  of  his  grand- 
father Isaac  in  mildness  and  benevolence  !  He  exercises  the 
active  industry  which  characterizes  his  father,  in  a  grand  and  no- 
ble manner.  It  is  not  the  care  of  flocks,  the  multiplication  of 
cattle  for  his  father-in-law  or  himself,  that  engage  his  attention  ; 
but  the  government  of  nations,  with  all  their  possessions,  on  be- 
half of  a  powerful  king.  The  recital,  full  of  nature  and  pathos^ 
appears  too  short  ;  and  one  feels  tempted  to  develope  and  de- 
scribe all  the  circumstances  of  the  story. 

These  biblical  pictures,  characters,  and  events,  the  grand  fea- 
tures of  which  are  so  strikingly  sketched  in  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
were  familiar  to  the  German  public.  The  personages  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testaments  had  assumed,  under  Klopstock's  pen, 
that  character  of  tenderness  and  sensibility,  with  which  his  con- 

G 


3D 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


temporaries  were  so  strongly  affected.  The  poem  of  Noah,  by 
Bodmer,  made  little  or  no  impression  on  me  ;  but  I  felt  a  very 
lively  emotion  on  reading  Moser's  poem,  the  subject  of  which  is 
Daniel  in  the  lions'  den. 

I  had  long  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  write  the  history  of 
Joseph  ;  but  I  did  not  know  in  what  form  to  treat  it.  1  was  by 
no  means  capable  of  a  style  of  versification  suitable  to  such  a 
subject  ;  I  therefore  adopted  a  poetical  kind  of  prose,  as  more 
easy,  and  I  began  the  work  with  ardour.  I  endeavoured  to 
mark  and  depict  the  characters.  I  wished  the  developement  of 
the  incidents  and  episodes  to  give  this  simple  recital  the  form  of 
a  substantial  work  of  some  extent.  I  forgot  what  young  people 
always  forget — that  such  a  work  requires  a  character,  for  the 
comprehension  and  representation  of  which,  experience  is  indis- 
pensably necessary. 

At  length  I  brought  my  biblico-poetical  romance  to  a  close. 
What  a  performance  for  a  youth  scarcely  beyond  the  age  of 
childhood  !  I  had  it  neatly  copied  by  a  young  man  who  acted  as 
my  father's  secretary,  with  the  addition  of  all  my  little  poetical 
compositions  that  appeared  to  me  to  merit  preservation.  The 
whole  formed  a  handsome  quarto  volume  ;  which,  after  procuring 
it  the  honour  of  an  elaborate  binding,  I  presented  to  my  father. 
He  received  it  kindly,  and  made  me  promise  to  present  him  a 
similar  volume  every  year.  Mr.  Goethe  considered  this  as  a 
matter  of  course,  these  works  being  the  fruit  of  my  leisure  hours. 

I  continued  my  theological,  or  rather  biblical  studies,  attend- 
ing and  analyzing  some  sermons  preached  by  a  protestant  minis- 
ter, which  formed,  together,  a  kind  of  course  of  Religion. 

It  was  a  principle  with  my  father,  that  every  thing  that  was 
begun  must  be  finished,  however  disgusting,  tedious,  troublesome, 
or  even  useless  the  results  might  be.  One  might  have  imagined 
that  he  thought  there  was  only  one  object  in  life — namely,  the 
accomplishment  of  a  design  formed  ;  and  that  he  considered 
perseverance  as  the  only  virtue.  Whatever  book  was  once  com- 
menced during  our  winter  evenings,  we  were  compelled  to  read 
to  the  end.  Thus  we  read  Bower's  History  of  the  Popes,  dry 
as  it  is  for  children.  Notwithstanding  all  the  ennui  that  these 
dull  annals  occasioned  us,  I  was  long  afterwards  capable  of  giving 
a  pretty  clear  account  of  them. 

Among  all  these  studies,  the  utility  of  most  of  which  was  at 
least  equivocal,  my  father  never  lost  sight  of  his  principal  object: 
he  was  constantly  bent  on  making  me  an  able  lawyer  ;  and  it  was 
now  necessary  to  endeavour  to  furnish  my  head  with  the  Corpus 
Juris* 

The  military  habits  amidst  which  we  had  lived  several  years, 
and  the  reading  of  histories  and  romances,  had  taught  us  that 
there  are  many  occasions  on  which  the  laws  are  silent,  and  where 
their  impotence  leaves  us  no  resource  but  in  our  personal 
abilities.   We  had  attained  the  age  at  which  boys  are  taught  to 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 

fence  and  ride,  to  enable  them  to  provide  for  their  own  safety. 
There  were  two  fencing-masters  in  the  town  :  one  was  a  grave 
elderly  German,  who  taught  the  art  according  to  the  old  school  ; 
the  other  a  Frenchman,  whose  science  consisted  in  the  rapidity 
of  his  motions,  and  in  thrusts  made  by  stealth,  and  lightly,  which 
he  always  accompanied  with  a  cry.    Each  of  these  rivals  had  his 
partisans.    The  little  society  with  which  1  studied,  favoured  the 
Frenchman.    We  therefore  soon  learned  to  advance,  to  fall 
back,  to  thrust,  to  recover  ;  and  all  with  the  customary  shout. 
Many  of  our  acquaintance  took  lessons  of  the  German  fencing- 
master,  whose  manner  was  totally  different.    This  opposition 
on  so  important  a  point,  and  the  exclusive  confidence  which 
every  one  reposed  in  his  favourite  master,  excited  dissensions 
among  the  young  folks:  and  the  fencing-room  had  nearly  become 
the  scene  of  real  battles.    Their  disputes  took  up  as  much  time 
as  their  fencing  ;  and,  to  put  an  end  to  them,  a  match  took  place 
between  the  two  masters.    The  German,  firm  as  a  rock  in  his 
position,  made  his  passes,  and,  fencing  away  in  tierce  and  carte, 
disarmed  his  adversary.    The  latter  insisted  that  this  was  of  no 
consequence,  and,  continuing  the  contest,  put  his  antagonist  out 
of  breath  by  the  rapidity  of  his  motions.    At  last  he  made  a 
thrust  at  him,  which  would  certainly  have  sent  him  to  the  other 
world,  had  they  been  in  earnest. 

My  progress  in  riding  was  not  great.  The  pedantic  manner 
in  which  this  noble  art  was  taught,  was  particularly  disgusting  to 
me.  The  riding  house  was  muddy  :  an  infectious  odour  ex- 
haled around  it.  They  always  gave  me  the  worst  horse.  The 
dullest  of  my  hours  were,  therefore,  those  passed  in  an  exercise 
which,  in  itself,  appeared  to  me  very  agreeable,  I  had  con- 
ceived such  an  aversion  to  the  riding  house,  that,  ever  afterwards, 
if  I  happened  to  be  walking  near  it,  1  took  great  care  to  avoid  it. 
It  may  be  observed,  that  our  apprenticeship  to  any  art  is  often 
made  painful  and  revolting  in  the  extreme,  by  the  mismanage- 
ment of  our  teachers.  To  avoid  this  evil,  it  has  latterly  become 
a  maxim  in  education,  that  study  of  every  kind  cannot  be  ren- 
dered too  easy  or  agreeable  to  youth  ;  and  from  this  maxim,  evils 
probably  no  less  serious  than  the  former  have  resulted. 

Nearly  at  the  same  period,  I  also  engaged  in  the  study  of  the 
principles  of  physics  and  mechanics.  The  history  of  the  anti- 
quities of  our  city  likewise  attracted  my  most  serious  attention. 
1  was  particularly  partial  to  those  middle  ages,  when  a  man 
could  freely  display  the  native  energies  of  his  character. 

With  the  keen  appetite  for  research  which  I  then  possessed,  Ï 
could  not  but  feel  much  curiosity  on  the  subject  of  the  present 
state  of  the  Jews.  They  inhabited  a  particular  quarter,  or  rather 
strèet,  at  Frankfort,  for  their  quarter  did  not  extend  beyond  the 
street.  It  had  formerly  been  enclosed  like  cloisters,  between  the 
ditches  and  walls  of  the  town.  The  narrow  confines  of  this 
place,  its  offensive  odour,  the  noise  and  confusion  that  prevailed 


02 


.MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


in  it,  the  melancholy  accent  of  a  rude  and  disagreeable  language  ; 
all  contributed  to  produce  an  impression  of  disgust,  even  on 
merely  looking  towards  that  quarter,  in  passing  by  it  to  reach 
the  city  gate.  It  was  long  before  1  durst  venture  into  the  Jews' 
street.  The  ancient  stones  of  their  cruelties  towards  the  chil- 
dren of  the  Christians,  related  in  so  terrific  a  manner  in  Gode- 
froy's  Chronicles,  recurred  to  my  mind.  Although  a  better  opi- 
nion of  them  prevailed  in  modern  times,  the  satirical  paintings 
which  were  still  to  be  seen  on  the  walls  of  the  bridge-tower, 
were  not  adapted  to  prepossess  people  in  their  favour.  It  was 
very  evident,  that  these  works  originated  not  in  the  malice  of  a 
private  enemy,  but  in  the  resentment  of  the  public. 

The  Jews  were,  nevertheless,  the  chosen  people  of  God  ;  and 
the  living  witnesses  of  the  authenticity  of  the  ancient  traditions. 
They  were  active  men,  forward  to  render  themselves  useful  and 
agreeable.  It  was  impossible  not  to  admire  the  perseverance 
they  displayed  in  their  attachment  to  their  ancient  laws.  Their 
daughters  were  handsome,  and  remarkably  graceful  :  they  were 
flattered  when  a  young  Christian  would  accompany  them  on  a 
Saturday  in  their  walks,  and  behave  attentively  and  kindiy  to 
them.  I  was  eager  to  become  acquainted  with  the  ceremonies 
of  their  religion.  I  had  no  rest  until  I  had  attended  their  schools, 
and  been  present  at  a  marriage  and  a  circumcision.  1  was  every 
where  well  received,  kindly  treated,  and  pressed  to  come  again. 

Whilst  in  my  capacity  of  a  young  citizen  of  a  great  city,  1  thus 
alternately  amused  myself  with  the  various  objects  that  interested 
me,  our  domestic  repose  and  security  were  sometimes  disturbed 
by  unpleasant  occurrences.  Sometimes  a  fire,  sometimes  great 
crimes,  followed  by  the  punishment  of  the  guilty,  kept  us  in 
alarm.  Several  executions  took  place  before  our  eyes.  I  par- 
ticularly remember  the  deep  impression  made  on  my  mind,  by 
the  burning  of  a  book  by  the  hangman.  This  book  was  the 
translation  of  a  French  romance  of  the  comic  kind.  It  con- 
tained no  attack  on  the  state  ;  but  was  proscribed  as  dangerous 
to  religion  and  good  morals.  There  was  something  terrific  in 
this  execution  of  an  inanimate  thing.  W e  never  rested  until  we 
had  procured  a  copy  of  it  ;  and  we  were  not  the  only  persons 
who  longed  for  the  forbidden  fruit.  Had  the  author  tried  to  dis- 
cover a  good  method  of  promoting  the  circulation  of  his  work, 
he  could  not  have  hit  upon  a  better  expedient. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  was  drawn  first  to  one  part  of  the  city, 
and  then  to  another  by  more  pacific  occupations.  My  father  had 
early  accustomed  me  to  act  as  his  factotum.  He  particularly 
employed  me  in  quickening  the  diligence  of  the  artists  or  work- 
men he  employed.  He  paid  well  ;  and  required  every  thing  to 
be  finished  and  delivered  on  the  day  fixed.  This  superinten- 
dence gave  me  an  opportunity  of  getting  some  knowledge  of 
most  arts  and  trades  :  it  likewise  afforded  me  the  means  of 
gratifying  my  innate  propensity  to  indentify  myself  with  the 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE, 


53 


feelings  and  notions  of  others  ;  and  to  interest  myself  in  every- 
thing that  constitutes  a  mo  le  of  existence,  I  derived  many 
agreeable  hours  from  this  kind  of  study,  learning  to  judge  of 
every  condition  of  life,  and  to  estimate  the  pleasures  and  pains, 
the  difficulties  and  enjoyments  which  each  of  them  presented. 
I  took  a  close  survey  of  that  active  class  which  is  placed  be- 
tween the  elevated  and  the  lower  ranks  of  society.  The  latter 
are  in  fact  composed  of  individuals  who  are  occupied  only  in 
collecting  the  raw  productions  of  nature  ;  whilst  these  produc- 
tions, modified  by  the  workman,  minister  to  the  luxury  and  sup- 
ply the  enjoyments  of  the  former.  The  intelligence  and  dexte- 
rity of  the  workman  connects  these  two  classes  together  ;  and 
by  his  means  each  obtains  what  he  wishes  for  in  his  own  way. 
The  domestic  life  of  every  man  occupied  in  a  mechanical  art, 
the  character  which  his  art  gives  him  in  the  midst  of  his  family, 
were  the  objects  of  my  assiduous  observations.  Thus  was  de- 
veloped and  strengthened  in  my  mind  the  sentiment  of  the 
equality,  not  of  individuals,  but  of  the  different  classes  of  hu- 
man life  ;  mere  existence  being  its  essential  condition,  all  the 
rest  is  the  effect  of  chance,  and  ought  to  be  regarded  as  indif- 
ferent. 

It  was  about  this  period,  whilst  I  was  engaged  sometimes  in  the 
occupations  which  3  have  just  mentioned,  and  sometimes  in  ru- 
ral labours  in  a  large  orchard  belonging  to  my  father,  that  the 
peace  of  Hubersburg  was  completed,  on  the  15th  of  Februarv, 
1763  * 

This  event  ushered  in  days  of  rejoicing  and  festivity,  and  it 
was  under  its  happy  auspices  that  I  was  destined  to  pass  the 
greater  part  of  my  life. 

Before  I  proceed  further,  let  me  pay  due  homage  to  several 
respectable  individuals,  to  whom  I  was  under  great  obligations. 

1  will  begin  with  M.  Olenschlager,  of  the  family  of  Frauen- 
stein,  a  senator,  and  son-in-law  to  Dr.  Orth,  whom  1  have  already 
mentioned.  This  gentleman,  in  his  grand  costume  of  burgo- 
master, might  have  passed  for  one  of  the  principal  French  pre- 
lates. Business  and  travel  had  made  him  a  remarkable  charac- 
ter. He  showed  some  esteem  for  me.  and  willingly  conversed 
with  me  on  the  subjects  which  interested  him.  1  was  privy  to 
the  composition  of  his  explanation  of  the  Golden  Bull.  He  had 
the  goodness  to  make  me  sensible  of  the  object  and  importance 
of  this  celebrated  document.  I  had  so  familiarized  myself  with 
the  rude  and  troubled  times  which  had  provoked  it,  that  I  could 
not  refrain  from  representing  the  characters  and  facts  with  which 
my  friend  entertained  me,  by  imitating  the  tone  and  gestures  of 
these  men  of  other  times,  as  if  we  had  had  them  before  our 
eyes.  This  pantomime  afforded  him  great  amusement,  and 
he  was  fond  of  making  me  repeat  it. 


':  Ooëthe  was  then  nearly  fourteen  years  of  a^e. 


.54 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


I  had  from  infancy  accustomed  myself  to  the  singular  prac- 
tice of  learning  by  heart  the  tables  of  contents  prefixed  to  the 
chapters  and  commencements  of  the  books  I  read.  I  had  adopt- 
ed this  method  with  the  Pentateuch,  the  iEneid,  and  the  Meta- 
morphoses. I  continued  it  with  the  Golden  Bull  :  and  my  good 
friend,  Olenschlager, laughed  heartily  when  I  unexpectedly 
cried  out  in  a  very  grave  tone  :  "  Omne  regnum  in  se  divisum 
desolabitur:  nam  principes  ejus  facti  sunt  socii  furum." — 
u  Every  kingdom  divided  against  itself  shall  be  brought  to  deso- 
lation ;  for  the  princes  thereof  are  become  the  associates  of 
robbers."  The  worthy  Olenschlager,  shaking  his  head,  said  in 
a  significant  manner  :  "  What  sort  of  times,  then,  were  those  in 
which  the  emperor  thundered  such  expressions  in  the  ears  of  the 
princes  of  the  empire  in  a  solemn  diet  ?" 

He  saw  little  company,  although  his  manners  were  highly 
agreeable,  and  he  took  great  pleasure  in  lively  conversation. 
He  would  now  and  then  get  us  to  perform  a  dramatic  piece. 
This  was  considered  an  useful  exercise  for  youth.  We  played 
Schlegel's  Canute,  and  afterward  ventured  on  Britannicus,  both 
to  perfect  ourselves  in  the  French  language  and  to  practise  de- 
clamation. I  played  Nero,  and  my  sister  Agrippina.  We  were 
applauded  far  beyond  our  deserts  ;  but  we  thought  we  received 
less  praise  than  we  merited. 

I  used  also  to  visit  Mr.  Reineck,  a  gentleman  of  a  very  ancient 
noble  family.  He  was  a  thin  man,  of  a  very  brown  complexion  ; 
of  the  most  upright  character,  and  firm  to  a  degree  that  often 
amounted  to  obstinacy.  Never  did  I  see  him  laugh.  He  had 
suffered  a  severe  aPiction,  his  daughter  having  eloped  with  a 
friend  of  the  family.  He  commenced  a  prosecution  against  his 
son-in-law,  which  he  carried  on  with  great  animosity  ;  but  the 
tardy  formalities  of  the  tribunals  affording  him  no  hopes  of  a 
speedy  vengeance,  or  one  agreeable  to  his  wishes,  he  attacked 
his  son-in-law  personally,  which  measure  produced  action  after 
action.  From  that  time  he  kept  himself  shut  up  in  his  houseand 
garden.  He  inhabited  a  spacious  but  dismal  ground-floor,  which 
for  many  years  had  neither  been  painted,  nor,  perhaps,  cleaned. 
He  seemed  to  place  some  confidence  in  me,  and  recommended 
his  youngest  son  to  my  attention.  His  oldest  friends,  who  knew 
how  to  accommodate  themselves  to  his  situation,  his  agents,  and 
his  counsellor,  often  dined  with  him.  He  never  failed  to  invite 
me  to  these  entertainments.  The  dinners  were  good;  the  wine 
still  better  :  but  a  dilapidated  stove,  which  emitted  smoke  on 
every  side  through  its  crevices,  annoyed  the  guests  excessively 
One  of  Mr.  Reineck's  best  friends  ventured  one  day  to  mention 
it  to  him,  asking  him  how  he  could  endure  so  great  an  inconve- 
nience all  the  winter.  "  Would  to  God,"  replied  he,  "  that  that: 
were  the  greatest  inconvenience  I  had  to  put  up  with."  It  was 
long  before  he  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  see  his  daughter  and 
grandson.    His  son-in-law  never  durst  appear  before  him. 


MEMOIRS  OF  (SOETHE? 


55 


My  company  had  a  favourable  effect  on  this  worthy  and  unfor- 
tunate man.  When  in  conversation  he  imparted  to  me  his  in- 
formation respecting  the  world  and  political  affairs,  he  seemed 
to  forget  his  troubles,  The  few  friends  who  used  to  meet  at  his 
house  employed  me  when  they  wished  to  d'.vert  his  mind  from 
his  sorrows.  We  prevailed  on  him  to  take  a  walk  with  us  occa- 
sionally. He  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  viewing  once  more  the 
fields  which  he  had  not  entered  for  many  years.  He  talked  to 
us  about  the  old  proprietors  of  them,  his  neighbours,  related  their 
histories,  and  described  their  characters.  His  judgments  were 
always  severe,  but  there  was  much  wit  and  pleasantry  in  his  nar- 
ratives. We  made  some  attempts  to  induce  him  to  return  to 
the  society  of  men,  but  were  always  unsuccessful. 

Another  person,  nearly  of  the  same  age,  whom  I  often  saw  at 
this  period,  was  Mr.  Malapart,  a  wealthy  man,  who  possessed  a 
very  handsome  house  in  the  horse-market,  and  derived  a  good 
revenue  from  his  salt-works.  Fie  also  lived  in  seclusion,  passing 
the  summer  at  his  garden,  near  the  Bockenheim  gate,  where  he 
cultivated  very  fine  tulips. 

M.  Reineck  was  also  an  amateur.  Flowers  were  now  in  sea- 
son. We  formed  a  plan  for  bringing  them  together;  and  after 
having  gradually  paved  the  wray  for  the  interview,  we  one  day 
took  Mr.  Reineck  to  Mr.  Malaparfs  garden.  The  two  old 
gentlemen  bowed  to  each  other,  and  the  company  walked  up 
and  down  between  the  beds  of  tulips,  with  true  diplomatic  gra- 
vity. The  flowers  were  really  superb  ;  their  various  forms  and 
colours,  the  superiority  of  some  to  others,  and  the  rarity  of  seve- 
ral sorts,  furnished  matter  for  the  conversation,  which  took  a 
very  friendly  turn.  This  gave  us  the  more  pleasure,  as  we  per- 
ceived in  an  adjacent  arbour  several  flagons  of  old  Rhenish  wine, 
some  fine  fruits,  and  other  dainties,  set  out  on  a  table.  Unfor- 
tunately, Mr.  Reineck  observed  a  very  fine  tulip,  the  head  of 
which  hung  down  a  little  ;  he  took  hold  of  the  stalk  very  care- 
fully, and  raised  the  flower  in  order  to  examine  it  more  minutely. 
But,  gently  as  he  touched  it,  the  owner  was  displeased.  Mr. 
Malapart,  very  politely,  but  with  a  very  determined  air,  and  as 
if  congratulating  himself  on  his  habitual  reserve,  reminded  him 
of  oculis,  non  manibus.  Mr.  Reineck  had  already  let  go  the 
flower.  At  these  words  the  colour  came  into  his  cheeks,  and  he 
replied,  in  his  usual  dry,  grave  tone,  that  amateurs  and  connoi- 
seurs  niight  freely  examine  and  handle  any  flower,  with  proper 
precautions  ;  and  upon  this  he  again  took  hold  of  the  flower. 
The  mutual  friends  were  embarrassed.  They  started  several 
subjects  of  conversation,  but  unsuccessfully.  The  two  old  gen- 
tlemen appeared  to  be  struck  mute.  We  dreaded,  every  mo- 
ment, that  Reineck  would  touch  the  flowers  again.  To  prevent 
his  doing  so,  we  took  them  each  apart,  and  soon  put  an  end  to 
the  visit  ;  thus  turning  our  backs  on  the  well-furnished  tabl^ 


5t> 


MEMOIRS  OV  GOETHE. 


which  we  had  viewed  with  longing  eyes,  but  had  not  been  able 
to  approach. 

The  privy  counsellor  Huisgen  was  another  of  the  friends  I 
used  to  visit.  He  was  not  a  Frankfort  man,  and  he  professed  the 
reformed  religion  ;  two  obstacles  which  hindered  him  from  hold- 
ing any  public  employment,  and  even  from  exercising  the  func- 
tions of  an  advocate.  He  nevertheless  practised  under  the  sig- 
nature of  another  person,  at  Frankfort,  and  in  the  courts  of  the 
empire  ;  his  reputation  as  an  excellent  lawyer  procured  him 
many  clients.  He  was  then  sixty  years  of  age  :  1  used  to  go  to 
his  house  to  take  lessons  in  writing  with  his  son.  Mr.  Huisgen 
had  a  very  long  face,  although  he  was  not  thin.  Disfigured  by 
the  small-pox  and  the  loss  of  an  eye,  he  appeared  frightful  at  the 
first  glance.  His  bald  head  was  surmounted  by  a  white  cap,  tied 
at  the  top  with  a  riband  :  he  always  wore  very  handsome  damask 
or  calamanco  robes  de  chambre.  He  inhabited  a  small  apart- 
ment on  the  ground-floor,  the  neatness  of  which  was  as  perfect 
as  the  serenity  of  his  temper.  It  was  a  treat  to  see  the  perfect 
order  of  his  papers,  his  books,  and  his  geographical  maps.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  discovered  that  he  was  at  variance,  not 
only  with  the  world,  but  with  heaven  also.  His  favourite  book 
was  Agrippa's  work,  de  Vanitate  Scientiarum.  He  advised  me 
to  read  it.  This  book  unsettled  my  ideas  for  some  time.  In  the 
peaceful  happiness  of  youth,  I  was  inclined  to  a  kind  of  optimism. 
I  had  reconciled  myself  to  heaven,  or  rather  to  the  divinity. 
The  experience  I  had  already  gained,  had  taught  me  that  good 
and  evil  are  often  balanced.  I  had  seen  that  it  was  possible  to 
avoid  misfortune,  and  escape  the  greatest  dangers.  I  looked 
with  indulgence  on  the  actions  and  passions  of  men  ;  and  what 
my  aged  Mentor  observed  with  disapprobation,  often  appeared 
to  me  to  merit  the  highest  encomiums.  One  day,  when  I  had 
launched  forth  in  praise  of  the  divine  perfections,  he  bent  the 
brow  of  the  eye  he  had  lost,  gave  me  a  piercing  look  with  the 
other,  and  said  in  a  nasal  tone,  "  Do  you  know  that  I  see  defects 
even  in  the  Deity."  I  never  met  any  person  at  his  residence, 
and  in  the  course  often  years,  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  him  go 
out  above  once. 

My  conversations  with  these  remarkable  men  were  not  fruit- 
less. Each  of  them  influenced  me  according  to  his  peculiar 
manners.  I  listened  to  them  with  more  attention  than  is  com- 
monly paid  by  children.  Each  of  them  endeavoured  to  bend 
me  to  his  views,  as  a  dear  son,  and  to  revive  his  own  moral  phy- 
siognomy in  me.  Olenschlager  wanted  to  make  a  courtier  of 
me  ;  Reineck,  a  diplomatist  ;  both,  and  the  latter  particularly, 
endeavoured  to  dissuade  me  from  poetry  and  my  passion  for  wri- 
ting. Huisgen  tried  to  convert  me  into  a  misanthrope  like  him- 
self, at  the  same  time  persuading  me  to  endeavour  to  become  an 
Me  lawyer.    According  to  him.  jurisprudence  was  a  science 


.MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


57 


which  it  was  necessary  to  acquire,  in  order  to  be  able  to  make 
use  of  the  laws  as  a  protection  against  the  injustice  of  mankind, 
and  in  defence  of  the  oppressed. 

Such  were  the  men  whose  information  I  sought  to  appropriate 
to  myself.  At  the  same  time  a  few  fellow-pupils,  older  than 
me,  excited  my  emulation  ;  among  others  the  two  brothers 
Schlosser,  and  Griesbach,  with  whom  I  was  for  many  years  inti- 
mately acquainted.  They  were  then  spoken  of  as  patterns  for 
imitation,  on  account  of  their  proficiency  in  the  study  of  lan- 
guages and  the  other  exercises  which  open  the  academic  career. 
Th  y  were  considered  by  all  wrho  knew  them  as  certain  to  make 
a  conspicuous  figure  either  in  business  or  the  church. 

For  my  part  I  had  an  irresistible  inclination  to  endeavour  to 
distinguish  myself  by  something  extraordinary.  But  Ï  knew 
not  yet  to  what  object  I  was  to  direct  my  efforts.  It  is  not  un- 
common to  be  more  ardently  desirous  of  a  noble  recompense, 
than  studious  to  acquire  the  means  of  deserving  it.  Why,  then, 
should  I  deny  that  in  my  dreams  of  glory  and  happiness,  the  idea 
of  the  crown  of  laurel  destined  to  adorn  the  poets'  brows,  wras 
what  appeared  most  attractive  to  me  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

Every  bird  has  its  bait,  and  every  man  travels  or  wanders  in 
a  way  of  his  own.  My  natural  disposition,  my  education,  the 
company  I  had  kept,  and  my  habits,  all  tended  to  fortify  me 
against  the  grosser  vices.  I  often  came  in  contact,  it  is  true, 
with  the  lower  classes,  particularly  with  artisans  ;  but  this  inter- 
course did  not  tend  to  any  intimate  connexion.  I  had  an  ample 
share  of  boldness,  and  could  readily  have  undertaken  any  extra- 
ordinary and  even  perilous  enterprise,  and  I  often  felt  a  strong 
inclination  to  do  so  ;  but  1  had  no  opportunities  of  this  kind. 

I  found  myself,  however,  suddenly  and  most  unexpectedly 
drawn  into  connexions  which  brought  me  to  the  very  brink  of 
ruin  ;  and  caused  me  a  long  series  of  anxieties  and  grief.  I  had 
continued,  in  youth,  the  connexion  I  formed  in  infancy  with  a 
fellow-pupil,  already  mentioned,  whom  I  called  Pylades. 

Our  parents  were  not  on  very  good  terms,  and  we  seldom  saw 
each  other.  But  whenever  chance  brought  us  together,  we  felt 
all  the  transport  of  recovering  long  lost  friends.  We  met  one 
day  under  the  alleys  of  trees  that  form  a  charming  walk  between 
the  inner  and  outer  gate  of  Saint  Gall.  Scarcely  had  we  saluted 
each  other,  when  he  said,  "  I  showed  the  verses  you  gave  me 
lately  to  some  friends,  and  they  will  not  believe  that  you  made 
them." — "  Well,  well,"  said  I,  "  let  us  compose  what  we  please, 
and  amuse  ourselves,  and  let  others  think  and  speak  as  they  like." 
— «  Here  comes  one  of  the  unbelievers,"  said  ray  friend* — "  Let 


58 


MEMOIRS  OF  ttOKTHE. 


us  say  nothing  about  it,"  I  replied.  "  Where  would  be  the  use 
of  it  ?  and  what  signifies  his  opinion."  After  we  had  exchanged 
a  few  unimportant  sentences,  my  young  friend,  who  was  deter- 
mined not  to  give  up  the  point,  said  to  the  other  :  "  This  is  my 
friend  who  wrote  those  clever  verses  that  I  showed  you,  and 
which  you  would  not  believe  he  had  composed." — "  He  ought 
not  to  take  that  amiss,"  replied  his  companion  ;  "  it  is  doing 
him  honour  to  think  the  verses  too  good  to  have  been  written  by 
one  of  his  age." — "  It  will  be  easy  to  convince  you,"  said  my 
friend  ;  "give  him  a  subject,  and  he  shall  turn  it  into  verse  on 
the  spot."  I  accepted  the  challenge  ;  we  were  alone.  Our 
skeptical  companion  then  proposed  as  a  theme,  a  declaration  of 
love  from  a  young  maiden  to  a  young  man.  He  immediately  gave 
me  his  tablets  and  a  pencil,  which  he  had  in  his  pocket.  I  sat 
down  on  a  bench  by  myself,  and  began.  My  two  companions 
walked  about,  taking  care  not  to  lose  sight  of  me.  1  entered 
warmly  into  my  subject,  and  composed  the  déclara  ion,  nearly 
in  the  form  of  a  madrigal.  When  I  read  my  poetical  effort  to 
them  the  skeptic  was  in  raptures,  and  my  friend  seemed  enchant- 
ed. The  former  asked  me  for  my  verses,  which  1  could  not  well 
refuse  him,  particularly  as  I  had  written  them  on  a  leaf  of  his  tab- 
lets ;  besides  1  was  proud  to  see  a  proof  of  my  talents  in  his 
hands.  He  left  us  with  professions  of  his  esteem  and  good  will 
towards  me,  hoping  that  we  should  soon  meet  again.  We  ac- 
cordingly engaged  to  take  a  waik  in  the  country  together. 

This  scheme  was  soon  carried  into  effect,  and  several  young 
friends  of  theirs  joined  us.  They  belonged  to  the  middling  class, 
or  rather  to  the  lower  one  ;  but  having  attended  the  schools  they 
had  gained  some  instruction,  and  learned  a  mode  of  behaviour 
that  indicated  some  education.  There  are  many  branches  of  in- 
dustry in  a  rich  and  extensive  city.  These  youths  worked  for 
the  advocates,  and  gave  lessons  to  children  of  the  lower  classes, 
as  the  practice  is  in  the  public  schools.  They  used  to  meet  in 
the  evening,  particularly  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  in  order  to 
take  a  frugal  repast  together. 

While  they  praised  my  love-letter,  they  confessed  that  they 
had  made  use  of  it  to  play  a  trick.  They  had  got  it  copied,  and 
sent  it  to  a  coxcomb,  who  firmly  believed  that  a  young  lady, 
whom  he  used  to  ogle,  had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  him. 
He  was  ardently  desirous  of  the  opportunity  of  an  interview  with 
her.  They  added,  that  it  would  give  him  the  greatest  delight 
to  answer  her  in  verse  ;  but  as  neither  he  nor  they  were  capable 
of  such  an  effort,  they  entreated  me  to  write  the  answer  myself. 

Playing  tricks  is  the  amusement  of  the  idle,  and  is  practised 
with  various  degrees  of  humour.  To  banter  a  person,  or  turn 
him  into  ridicule,  is  a  pleasure  to  those  who  can  find  no  resources 
either  in  themselves,  or  in  the  conversation  of  others.  No  pe- 
riod of  life  is  entirely  exempt  from  these  follies.  W e  had  amused 
ourselves  in  our  childhood  with  jests  of  this  kind  :  I  considered 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


39 


this  as  a  harmless  one  ;  I  consented  to  it.  They  apprised  me 
of  a  few  circumstances  that  were  to  form  part  of  the  letter,  and 
1  quickly  composed  it. 

Soon  afterwards,  my  friend  pressed  me  to  sup  with  him  and 
his  associates.  The  amorous  youth  was  to  be  of  the  party  ;  he 
was  resolved  that  nothing  should  prevent  his  paying  his  acknow- 
ledgments to  the  person  who  had  acted  as  his  interpreter,  under 
the  inspiration  of  the  Muses.  We  met  rather  late.  The  enter- 
tainment was  very  frugal  ;  the  wine  drinkable  :  the  whole  of  the 
conversation  consisted  in  jesting  at  the  expense  of  the  poor  lover, 
who  was  quite  unsuspicious  of  the  truth,  and,  on  a  second  pe- 
rusal of  his  letter,  almost  thought  he  had  written  it  himself. 

My  good- nature  did  not  allow  me  to  take  much  pleasure  in 
this  malicious  jest,  the  repetition  of  which  soon  disgusted  me  ; 
and  1  made  but  a  dull  figure  at  this  supper,  when  an  unexpected 
apparition  suddenly  reanimated  me.  This  was  a  young  female 
of  extraordinary  beauty,  cousin  to  two  of  the  guests,  and  niece 
to  the  mistress  of  the  house.  She  only  appeared  for  an  instant^ 
and  immediately  withdrew  on  some  errand  for  her  aunt. 

As  she  left  the  room,  she  appeared  to  me  still  more  charming. 
Tresses  of  beautiful  hair  formed  the  appropriate  ornament  of 
her  lovely  head:  her  neck,  of  dazzling  whiteness,  was  exquisitely 
formed.  She  was  remarkably  graceful  ;  and  when  the  charms 
of  her  face  ceased  to  rivet  the  attention,  it  wandered  in  ecstasy 
over  her  whole  figure.  I  blamed  my  companions  for  allowing 
this  charming  girl  to  go  out  thus  alone  at  night.  My  anxiety 
was  soon  calmed  by  her  return.  One  of  the  company  offered 
her  a  chair,  which  she  accepted.  I  regretted  that  she  was  not 
placed  near  me  ;  but  she  retired  almost  immediately,  recom- 
mending us  not  to  stay  late,  and  particularly  not  to  speak  too 
loud,  for  fear  of  waking  her  mother,  as  she  called  the  mother  of 
our  host,  although  in  fact  she  was  only  her  aunt. 

The  countenance  of  this  young  woman  remained  fixed  in  my 
imagination  .  this  was  the  first  time  a  female  face  had  made  a 
durable  impression  upon  me.  As  I  could  find  no  pretext  for  re- 
turning to  the  house,  love  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  going  to 
church  to  see  her.  I  soon  discovered  where  she  sat  :  I  used  to 
gaze  on  her  all  service-time,  which,  however  long  it  might  be  in 
reality,  alwaj  s  appeared  to  me  too  short.  I  durst  not  offer  her 
my  arm,  or  speak  to  her  on  leaving  the  church  :  I  was  but  too 
happy  if  I  could  persuade  myself  that  she  had  looked  at  me,  and 
when  she  had  returned  my  salute.  It  was  not,  however,  long 
before  1  had  once  more  the  pleasure  of  a  nearer  sight  of  her. 
The  young  lover  had  been  made  to  believe  that  the  letter  I  had 
written  in  his  name,  had  really  been  delivered  to  his  mistress  ; 
he  expected  an  answer  with  the  most  eager  impatience.  My 
acquaintances  wished  me  to  undertake  it  ;  and  Pylades  was  de- 
sired to  urge  me  to  employ  my  utmost  abilities  on  the  occasion. 

The  hope  of  seeing  her  whom  I  loved,  induced  me  to  set  to 


GO 


•MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE". 


work  immediately.  I  represented  to  myself  every  thing  that  I 
thought  would  have  delighted  me  in  a  letter  written  to  me  by 
Margaret,  (which  was  the  name  of  my  fair  one.)  Inspired  by 
the  amiable  and  attractive  expression  of  that  dear  face,  full  of 
her  character,  and  assuming  the  mode  of  feeling  that  I  ascribed 
to  her,  I  ardently  prayed  that  it  might  not  prove  an  illusion. 
The  idea  that  I  might  possibly  receive  such  a  letter  from  her, 
transported  me  with  enthusiasm.  Thus  was  I  deluding  myself, 
whilst  1  thought  I  was  playing  off  a  jest  on  another.  This  affair 
was  to  be  productive  both  of  pleasure  and  pain  to  me.  1  had 
just  finished  my  letter  when  I  was  invited  to  the  common  repast  : 
I  promised  to  come,  and  it  may  be  supposed  that  I  did  not  make 
them  wait  for  me.  When  I  arrived,  1  found  only  one  of  our 
company.  Margaret  was  sitting  at  a  window  at  work.  The 
young  man  begged  me  to  read  him  the  letter:  I  consented.  I 
read  it  with  great  emotion,  sometimes  fixing  my  eyes  on  the 
paper,  and  sometimes  on  my  beloved.  When  I  thought  she  ap- 
peared a  little  agitated,  when  a  slight  carnation  appeared  to  suf- 
fuse her  cheeks,  1  expressed  with  still  more  ardour  and  vivacity 
the  sentiments  which,  in  my  illusion,  1  had  supposed  her  to  en- 
tertain towards  me.  My  young  auditor,  who  was  her  cousin, 
often  interrupted  me  with  his  praises  ;  but  nevertheless  suggested 
some  alterations,  when  I  had  concluded,  in  several  passages  that 
were  really  much  more  applicable  to  Margaret,  than  to  a  young 
lady  of  a  very  good  family,  rich,  and  highly  respected  in  the  city. 
This  young  man  left  the  room,  after  lending  me  his  pencil  to 
make  the  corrections  he  had  proposed. 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench  by  the  table,  and  near  the  window,  oc- 
cupied in  the  revision  of  my  letter. 

After  several  attempts,  1  cried  out  in  an  impatient  tone, 
"  This  will  never  do  !" — "  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  lovely 
Margaret,  gayly.  u  What  are  you  doing  there  ?"  At  the  same 
time,  leaving  her  work  and  approaching  me,  she  bega;>  to  lecture 
me  in  a  very  friendly  "and  rational  manner  :  "  This,"  said  she, 
"  appears  to  you  an  innocent  jest  :  it  is  a  jest,  but  it  is  not  inno- 
cent, i  have  already  often  seen  our  young  people  involved  in 
serious  perplexities  through  such  tricks." — "What  is  to  be 
done  ?"  I  replied  :  "  the  letter  is  written,  and  they  imagine  I  am 
correcting  it." — "  Will  you  take  my  advice  ?  Decline  the  propo- 
sal :  carry  the  letter  home  ;  or  tear  it.  and  retire.  You  can 
afterward  try  to  make  an  excuse  to  your  friends.  I  have  still 
something  more  to  say  to  you  :  I  am  only  a  young  girl,  without 
fortune,  and  dependent  on  my  relations.  It  is  true  they  are  in- 
capable  of  doing  any  harm  ;  but  they  are  not  always  very  pru- 
dent in  their  amusements.  1  declined  copying  the  first  letter, 
as  they  requested  me  to  do.  One  of  them  transcribed  it  him- 
self, in  a  disguised  hand,  and  they  intend  to  do  the  same  with 
this.  But  why  should  you,  a  young  man  of  a  good  faqaily,  rich 
-*nd  independent,  become  their  instrument  in  a  deception  from 


.MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTIÏL. 


61 


which  you  can  have  nothing  to  expect,  but  which  may  produce 
unpleasant  consequences  to  you."  To  hear  her  speak  to  me  at 
such  length,  and  with  so  much  kindness,  was  an  incomparable 
happiness  to  me.  I  had  scarcely  heard  a  sentence  from  her  be- 
fore. Every  word  she  uttered  increased  my  passion  for  her,  and 
I  could  not  refrain  from  sayings  in  the  transports  I  felt:  "  1  am 
not  so  independent  as  you  imagine  ;  and  of  what  use  would  for- 
tune be  to  me,  if  i  could  not  obtain  that  which  is  most  precious 
to  me,  the  object  of  my  most  ardent  wishes  ?" 

She  had  drawn  my  poetical  epistle  near  her.  Sh^  read  it 
softly.,  in  a  sweet  and  affecting  tone.  "  it  is  very  pretty,"  said 
she.  smiling  :  "  what  a  pity  it  is  not  intended  for  a  better  pur- 
pose !" — kt  Ah  !"  I  exclaimed,  tJ  how  happy  would  he  be  who 
should  obtain  such  a  pledge  of  love  from  the  girl  he  adores  !"— 
"  That  would  be  difficult,1'  replied  she,  "  but  not  impossible." — 
"  For  uistance,"  continued  I,  "if  any  one  who  knows  you,  cherish- 
es, and  honours  you,  were  to  present  to  you  such  a  letter  as  this, 
and  were  to  press  you,  to  entreat  you  with  the  utmost  earnest- 
ness and  the  most  tender  affection,  to  avow  it  as  the  expression 
of  your  sentiments,  what  would  you  do  ?"  I  replaced  before  her 
the  letter,  which  she  had  returned  to  me.  She  began  to  laugh, 
reflected  for  a  moment  ;  then  took  the  pen  and  wrote  her  name 
at  the  foot  of  the  letter.  I  rose  in  a  transport  of  joy — I  wished 
to  embrace  her. — "  No  embraces,"  said  she,  drawing  back  ; 
M  that  is  too  common  :  but  love  me,  if  it  be  possible."  I  had 
placed  the  letter  in  my  bosom.  "  It  is  done,"  cried  I  ;  u  no  one 
but  myself  shall  have  it.  1  owe  my  preservation  to  you." — • 
"  Withdraw,  then,  quickly,"  said  she,  "  before  they  return."  I 
was  unable  to  tear  myself  from  her  ;  but  she  entreated  me  to  go, 
in  an  affectionate  tone,  tenderly  pressing  my  hand  between  her 
own.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  I  thought  hers  appeared  moist. 
Bending  over  her  hands,  I  pressed  them  to  my  face,  and  then  ran 
out  of  the  room.  Never  since  have  I  experienced  such  trans- 
ports,  such  exultation  ! 

First  love,  in  early  youth,  and  in  an  uncorrupted  heart,  pene- 
trates the  whole  soul  ;  it  is  all  sentiment,  ail  spirit.  It  seems  to 
have  been  the  behest  of  nature,  that  one  sex  should  find  in  the 
other  all  that  is  beautiful  and  good.  The  sight  of  this  girl  and 
my  love  for  her,  disclosed  to  my  eyes  a  new  universe  a  hundred 
times  more  resplendent  with  beauty  and  perfection  than  the  real 
world.  1  was  every  moment  reading  over  my  poetical  epistle  : 
1  gazed  incessantly  on  the  name  of  Margaret  written  with  her 
own  hand  ;  I  kissed  it,  and  pressed  it  to  my  bosom.  My  joy  at 
having  gained  the  love  of  so  charming  a  girl  exceeded  all  con- 
ception ;  but  the  more  my  enthusiasm  increased,  the  more  pain- 
ful I  found  it  to  be  prevented  from  flying  immediately  to  her  pre- 
sence, seeing  and  conversing  with  her  :  for  1  was  apprehensive 
of  the  reproaches  I  might  have  to  encounter  from  her  cousin.  I 
did  not  know  where  to  meet  with  my  friend  Pylades,  who  alone 


62 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


could  arrange  every  thing.  The  following  Sunday  I  hastened  to 
the  Niederrad,  where  these  youths  were  accustomed  to  meet, 
and  where  1  joined  them.  I  expected  to  find  them  dissatisfied 
and  cool  towards  me  ;  and  was  surprised  to  see  them  advance  to 
meet  me  with  great  cordiality.  The  youngest,  in  particular,  ad- 
dressed me  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  and  taking  my  hand, 
said  :  "  You  played  us  a  pretty  trick  the  other  day.  We  were 
very  angry  with  you  at  the  time  ;  but  your  flight,  and  the  disap- 
pearance of  your  poetical  production,  suggested  a  good  idea  to 
us,  of  which  we  might  otherwise,  perhaps,  never  have  thought. 
You  must  give  us  a  treat  to-day,  to  seal  our  reconciliation.  We 
will  explain  the  matter  to  you,  and  our  scheme  will  not  displease 
you."  The  proposal  embarrassed  me  not  a  little  :  I  had  about 
me,  at  most,  enough  to  have  treated  one  friend  in  a  moderate 
style  ;  but  to  entertain  a  party,  and  especially  a  party  like  them, 
who  were  not  in  the  habit  of  stopping  short  in  the  midst  of  their 
pleasures,  was  an  expense  quite  beyond  my  means  ;  and  I  was 
the  more  surprised  at  this  proposal,  as  in  all  their  meetings  they 
made  it  a  point  of  honour  for  every  one  to  pay  his  share  of  the 
reckoning.  They  laughed  at  my  embarrassment,  and  (he  young- 
est said  :  "  Come  along  with  us  into  the  arbour,  and  leave  the 
matter  to  us."  We  went  and  sat  down  accordingly,  and  he  con- 
tinued :  "  When  you  had  vanished  with  your  amorous  epistle," 
said  he,  u  we  reconsidered  our  plan,  and  perceived  that  we  had 
abused  your  talents  for  the  sake  of  a  bad  joke,  the  only  object 
of  which  was  to  vex  an  individual,  and  to  bring  ourselves  into 
danger  ;  whilst  we  might  easily  have  employed  you  in  a  manner 
that  would  have  been  advantageous  to  us  all.  Here,  you  see,  I 
have  an  order  for  an  epitnalamium,  and  another  for  k  funeral 
elegy.  The  latter  allows  of  no  delay  :  we  have  eight  days  to 
complete  the  other.  You  can  easily  accomplish  these  two  af- 
fairs, and  thus  enable  yourself  to  entertain  us  twice  ;  and  we 
shall  remain  obliged  to  you."  This  proposal  suited  me  ex- 
tremely well  ;  for  having  been  accustomed  from  infancy  to  com- 
pose occasional  verses,  1  was  abundantly  stocked  with  epithala- 
miums.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  myself  ;  and, 
what  gave  me  still  more  pleasure,  to  see  my  compositions  in  print. 
I  therefore  readily  acceded  to  the  scheme  of  my  young  compa- 
nions. They  put  me  in  possession  of  the  requisite  names  and 
family  circumstances.  I  sat  down  by  myself,  made  a  sketch  of 
my  elegy,  and  composed  a  few  stanzas.  I  then  rejoined  the 
company  :  the  wine  was  not  spared  ;  nevertheless  my  vein  was 
exhausted  for  the  time,  and  I  could  not  finish  my  poem  that  eve- 
ning. They  told  me  I  had  until  the  following  evening  to  com- 
plete it,  and  that  the  gratuity  paid  for  the  elegy  was  enough  to 
afford  us  another  amusing  evening.  "  Do  you  make  one  of  us," 
added  they.  "  Margaret  will  be  there  also  :  she  is  fairly  entitled 
to  share  our  feast  ;  for,  in  fact,  our  scheme  was  her  own  sugges- 
tion."   I  was  delighted  to  hear  this.    As  1  went  home,  I  com- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


63 


posed  in  my  mind  my  last  stanzas.  I  committed  the  whole  to 
writing  before  1  went  to  bed,  and  the  following  morning  I  made 
a  fair  copy  of  my  poem.  The  day  seemed  to  me  insupportably 
long  ;  and  scarcely  had  night  commenced  when  !  was  once  more 
by  the  side  of  my  beloved,  in  that  humble  dwelling  which  her 
presence  seemed  to  me  to  embellish. 

The  youths  with  whom  this  affair  brought  me  into  closer  inti- 
macy than  before,  belonged,  as  J  have  stated,  to  the  common 
class.  Their  industry  was  highly  laudable.  It  was  with  plea- 
sure that  I  heard  them  talk  of  the  various  expedients  they  were 
capable  of  employing,  for  procuring  a  livelihood.  They  were 
very  fond  of  mentioning  individuals  of  known  wealth,  who  had 
begun  life  with  nothing.  Some  had  been  the  humble  agents  of 
their  patrons,  to  whom  they  had  found  means  to  render  them- 
selves necessary,  and  whose  daughters,  in  process  of  time,  they 
had  married.  Others  had  commenced  as  petty  shopkeepers  ; 
and  by  dint  of  labour,  method,  and  talents,  had  become  rich  mer- 
chants. Amidst  all  these  stories,  it  was  resolved  that  each  of  us 
should  in  turn  explain  the  manner  in  which  he  hoped,  not  only 
to  make  his  way  in  the  world,  but  also  to  acquire  a  handsome 
fortune.  None  of  them  discussed  the  subject  more  seriously  than 
Pylades.  He  confessed  to  us  that  he  was  passionately  in  love 
with  a  young  person,  and  that  they  had  exchanged  vows  of 
fidelity.  The  fortune  of  his  parents  did  not  permit  him  to  study 
at  the  University  ;  but  he  wrote  a  fine  hand,  and  understood  ac- 
counts, and  the  modern  languages.  By  the  help  of  these  re- 
sources, therefore,  he  meant  to  exert  himself  to  obtain  a  happy 
domestic  establishment  as  sooi<  as  possible.  Margaret's  cousins 
approved  of  his  intentions,  but  not  of  his  premature  engagement 
with  a  young  female  ;  adding,  that  although  they  considered  him 
an  excellent  young  man,  they  did  not  think  him  either  active  or 
bold  enough  to  attain  a  great  fortune.  He  endeavoured  to  raise 
himself  in  their  opinion  by  explaining  his  proposed  undertakings, 
the  means  he  intended  to  use,  and  the  grounds  of  his  hopes. 
Every  one  followed  his  example.  At  last  my  turn  came.  I  was 
to  explain  my  plans,  and  to  describe  the  pursuits  in  life  which  I 
intended  to  adopt.  u  To  place  himself  on  an  equality  with  us,'' 
said  Pylades,  M  he  must  set  aside  the  advantages  of  his  situation, 
and  tell  us  what  he  would  do,  if  he  had,  like  us,  no  resource  but 
in  himself." 

Margaret,  who,  up  to  that  moment,  bad  never  laid  aside  her 
work,  now  quitted  t  and  sat  down  at  the  end  of  our  table.  We 
had  emptied  several  bottles,  and  I  found  myself  in  very  good 
order  for  composing  my  romance.  I  returned  them  thanks  for 
having  procured  me  the  means  of  commencing  business  by  the 
orders  for  poetry  which  they  had  brought  me.  I  entreated  them 
not  to  take  amiss  my  aversion  to  all  arts  and  professions  what- 
ever. They  remembered  what  I  had  already  said  to  them  on 
this  point,  as  well  as  respecting  the  kind  of  occupation  of  which 


64 


ilLMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


I  thought  myself  capable.  Each  of  them  had  applied  his  talents 
to  lucrative  pursuits,  and  I  also  should  direct  mine  towards  this 
requisite  for  my  establishment  in  the  world.  Hitherto  Margaret 
had  listened  with  great  attention.  She  Was  leaning  on  the  edge 
of  the  table,  with  her  hands  across,  resting  on  her  arms  :  in  this 
position,  the  motions  of  her  head  sufficed  to  indicate  her  thoughts, 
and  every  sign  she  made  was  to  the  purpose.  Whilst  the  rest 
were  speaking,  she  had  now  and  then  introduced  a  few  words  to  as- 
sist them  in  expressing  their  ideas  ;  but  when  1  began  she  became 
motionless,  as  usual.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  oti  her  ;  and  it  will 
easily  be  believed,  that,  as  1  developed  my  plar  of  life,  the  sen- 
timents she  had  inspired  me  with,  and  the  influence  they  had 
over  all  my  views,  could  not  escape  her  observation.  My  passion 
gave  to  all  my  expressions  such  an  air  of  truth,  to  all  my  schemes 
such  a  plausible  appearance,  that  the  illusion  was  quite  perfect 
to  myself.  I  fancied  myself  alone  and  friendless,  as  my  plan  sup- 
posed, and  the  hopes  of  possessing  her  raised  me  to  the  summit 
of  felicity.  Pylades  had  concluded  his  scheme  with  his  marriage, 
the  others  were  considering  whether  their  plans  should  extend  so 
far-  "  Undoubtedly!"  I  exclaimed.  u  must  not  each  of  us  wish 
for  a  wife  to  manage  his  house,  and  afford  him,  in  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  marriage,  the  advantages  to  which  his  labours  have 
entitled  him  ?"  I  then  drew  the  portrait  of  such  a  woman  as  I 
wished  for.  Could  it  be  any  thing  but  an  exact  resemblance  of 
Margaret  ? 

The  gratuity  given  for  the  funeral  elegy  was  expended  ;  but 
we  now  reckoned  upon  the  good  fortune  of  the  epithalamium. 
1  overcame  all  fear  and  anxiety  ;  and  i  succeeded  in  concealing 
my  evening  engagements  from  my  parents  and  all  who  knew  me. 
To  see  the  lovely  object  of  my  affection — to  be  with  her — was 
now  indispensably  necessary  to  my  existence.  My  young  friends 
had  conceived  an  affection  for  me.  We  were  almost  always  to- 
gether ;  it  seemed  impossible  for  us  to  remain  apart.  Pylades 
had  brought  his  fair  one;  and  this  amorous  couple  often  shared 
our  suppers.  As  betrothed  to  each  other,  they  did  not  conceal 
their  mutual  tenderness.  Margaret,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
studiously  to  keep  me  at  a  certain  distance.  She  never  allowed 
the  least  freedom  :  but  she  sat  frequently  by  my  side,  particularly 
when  1  was  writing  or  reading.  She  would  then  familiarly  lay 
her  arm  on  my  shoulder,  to  read  in  my  book  or  paper  with  me  : 
but  whenever  I  offered  to  indulge  myself  in  the  same  familiarity, 
she  would  remove,  nor  would  she  return  to  the  same  place  for  a 
considerable  time.  But  she  frequently  assumed  this  position  ;  for 
her  motions  and  gestures  were  nearly  uniform,  but  always  pleas- 
ing, graceful,  and  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  My  consolation 
was,  that  1  never  saw  her  more  familiar  with  any  other  person. 

One  of  our  most  innocent  amusements  was  an  excursion  by 
water  in  the  Hochst  boat,  which  used  to  meet  the  Mentz  boat  at 
Hochst.   We  generally  joined  the  passengers  at  the  table  eP  hôte. 


OF  GOETHE. 


65 


The  coinpany  always  varied.  I  once  made  this  excursion  with 
a  cousin  of  Margaret's.  There  was  a  young  friend  of  his  at  table, 
whom  he  presented  to  me.  In  the  course  of  conversation,  this 
young  man  appeared  to  me  extremely  well  informed  on  all  public 
affairs.  When  we  separated,  the  cousin  solicited  me  to  recom- 
mend his  friend  to  some  official  situation.  This  was  a  novelty 
to  me.  I  had  never  thought  of  putting  my  grandfather's  kind- 
ness to  the  test  for  such  a  purpose,  and  I  felt  reluctant  to  do  so. 
They  urged  the  point,  and  I  gave  my  promise.  Accordingly,  on 
the  first  opportunity  1  presented  a  written  request  to  the  vene- 
rable old  man.  He  wished  to  know  how  I  came  to  interest  my- 
self for  the  petitioner.  I  told  him  that  he  had  been  strongly  re- 
commended to  me  by  a  friend,  and  that  he  seemed  to  me  a  per- 
son of  considerable  abilities.  He  promised  to  give  him  a  situation 
if  he  really  deserved  it,  and  provided  the  result  of  the  inquiries 
that  would  be  made  respecting  him  should  be  favourable,  No- 
thing farther  passed  on  the  subject,  and  1  thought  no  more  of  it. 
I  knew  not  how  much  cause  I  should  one  day  have  to  repent  this 
step. 

1  had  for  some  time  observed  that  Margaret  was  employed  on 
some  very  fine  needlework  ;  which  in  some  degree  surprised  me. 
as  the  days  had  become  very  short,  and  winter  was  fast  approach- 
ing. I  had  forgotten  the  circumstance,  until  one  morning,  not 
finding  her  with  our  hostess  as  usual,  I  conceived  some  anxiety 
respecting  her.  A  few  days  afterwards  1  was  strangely  surprised. 
My  sister,  who  was  going  to  a  ball,  requested  me  to  get  her  some 
flowers  in  the  Italian  style  at  a  milliner's.  These  flowers  were 
very  ingeniously  worked  :  the  myrtles,  in  particular,  resembled 
nature  so  closely  as  to  be  a  perfect  deception.  1  immediately 
went  to  the  shop,  where  1  had  formerly  been  with  my  sister. 
Scarcely  had  I  saluted  the  mistress,  when  I  perceived  near  the 
window  a  female,  whose  face  was  half  concealed  by  a  straw 
bonnet.  She  appeared  young  and  handsome.  Her  elegant  form 
was  easily  distinguished  under  her  cloak.  1  saw  she  was  a  work- 
woman, for  she  was  then  engaged  in  ornamenting  a  hat  with 
ribands  and  feathers.  The  milliner  showed  me  some  boxes  full 
of  flowers.  Whilst  I  was  looking  at  them,  I  cast  my  eyes  on  the 
damsel  sitting  near  the  window.  1  was  astonished  to  see  how 
much  she  resembled  Margaret  ;  but  at  length  I  found  it  was 
Margaret  herself!  I  was  confirmed  in  this  discovery  by  her 
winking,  and  placing  her  finger  on  her  mouth,  to  request  me  not 
to  let  it  be  known  that  we  were  acquainted.  I  distressed  the 
milliner  by  my  indecision  even  more  than  a  woman  would  have 
done.  How  could  I  determine,  agitated  as  I  was  ?  Yet  1  took 
pleasure  in  prolonging  this  agitation  :  !  found  myself  near  my 
beloved.  In  this  new  costume,  although  I  was  hurt  at  her  wear- 
ing it,  she  appeared  more  charming  than  ever.  The  milliner  at 
length  was  out  of  patience  ;  she  placed  in  my  hands  a  lame  boy 


06 


MEMOIRS  01  GOETHE. 


lull  of  flow  ors,  requesting  me  to  show  them  to  my  sister,  and  to 
let  her  choose  for  herself. 

On  my  return,  my  father  informed  me  that  the  Archduke  Jo- 
seph, afterward  the  Emperor  Joseph  II.,  was  speedily  to  be 
elected  and  crowned  king  of  the  Romans.  We  began  to  examine 
the  journals  which  had  given  a  particular  account  of  the  last 
two  coronations.  We  then  had  to  consult  the  capitulations  sign- 
ed by  the  respective  sovereigns,  in  order  to  judge  of  the  various 
new  conditions  which  might  be  imposed  on  the  Archduke.  This 
occupation  employed  us  the  whole  of  the  day,  and  was  even  pro- 
longed to  a  late  hour  in  the  night.  The  enchanting  countenance 
of  Margaret  sometimes  in  her  usual  costume,  sometimes  in  her 
new  attire,  incessantly  occurred  to  my  imagination  ;  and  put  to 
flight  all  thoughts  of  the  capitulations  and  coronations.  1  had  not 
been  able  to  go  out  to  see  her.  I  passed  the  night  in  an  uneasy 
and  agitated  state.  The  whole  of  the  following  day  was  spent 
in  the  same  occupations  as  the  preceding  ;  at  length  in  the  eve- 
ning I  found  a  leisure  moment  to  fly  to  the  presence  of  my 
charmer.  She  was  in  her  usual  dress,  and  began  to  laugh  when 
she  saw  me.  1  durst  not  at  first  say  any  thing  before  the  com- 
pany ;  but  when  every  one  was  seated  I  could  no  longer  keep 
silence,  but  expressed  my  surprise  that  she  did  not  explain  to  her 
friends  why  they  had  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  the  pre- 
ceding day.  She  replied,  that  our  last  conversation  on  the 
means  of  gaining  our  livelihood  had  produced  a  consultation  be- 
tween her  and  her  relations,  respecting  the  manner  in  which  a 
woman  might  employ  her  talents  to  her  own  advantage.  Having 
learnt  from  one  of  her  cousins  that  a  milliner  was  in  want  of  an 
assistant,  she  had  seized  the  opportunity.  She  passed  almost 
the  whole  day  in  this  employment,  the  salary  of  which  rendered 
her  independent.  In  the  shop  she  was  obliged  to  adopt  the  usual 
dress  of  a  mdliner,  but  at  home  she  resumed  her  ordinary  cos  - 
tume. This  explanation  satisfied  me,  although  I  was  concerned 
to  see  this  lovely  girl  under  the  necessity  of  appearing  in  a  shop 
open  to  every  one  who  chose  to  enter,  and  situated  in  the  very 
rendezvous  and  lounge  of  people  of  fashion  ;  but  I  took  great 
care  not  to  allow  my  jealous  anxiety  to  appear,  and  only  brood- 
ed over  my  vexation  in  silence.  The  youngest  of  Margaret's 
cousins  soon  furnished  me  with  orders  for  occasional  poetry. 
He  himself  was  desirous  of  learning  to  compose  in  this  style  :  I 
long  endeavoured  to  qualify  him  by  precepts,  supported  by  ex- 
amples ;  but  he  made  scarcely  any  progress  at  all.  Margaret 
continued  to  work  at  the  milliner's  ;  and  when  she  came  home, 
took  a  share  in  our  literary  exercises,  in  which  she  gave  proofs  of 
genius  and  native  talents.  We  were  all  pleased  with  our  eve- 
ning parties.  Our  pleasure  was  not  damped  even  by  the  rejec- 
tion of  one  of  our  poetical  works  ;  and  we  unanimously  pro- 
nounced that  the  critic  who  had  decided  against  it  must  have 
been  devoid  of  common  sense. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


hi  ilie  mean  time  the  election  and  coronation  of  the  king  of 
the  Romans  drew  near.  The  end  of  the  year  1763,  and  the  be- 
ginning of  1 764,  were  employed  in  preparations  for  these  solem- 
nities. We  soon  witnessed  a  ceremony  which  we  had  never  seen 
before,  but  which  was  only  a  prelude  to  more  splendid  fêtes. 
One  of  the  officers  of  the  chancery,  escorted  by  four  trumpeters, 
all  on  horseback  and  surrounded  by  a  detachment  of  infantry, 
read  aloud  in  each  quarter  of  the  city  a  long  edict,  informing  us 
of  all  that  was  to  take  place,  and  giving  notice  to  the  inhabitants 
to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  for  this  important  occasion.  The 
senate  frequently  assembled  to  deliberate.  Shortly  afterward 
an  imperial  quarter-master  arrived,  commissioned  by  the  heredi- 
tary grand  marshal  to  appoint  and  get  ready  the  lodgings  of  the 
ambassadors  and  their  suites,  according  to  custom.  Our  house 
being  situate  near  the  Roëmer,  we  were  compelled  to  sustain 
our  share  of  this  burden,  but  in  a  more  satisfactory  manner  than 
on  the  former  occasion.  The  apartment  on  the  first  floor,  which 
had  been  occupied  by  the  Count  de  Thorane,  was  now  assigned 
to  an  envoy  of  the  Elector  Palatine.  Baron  Kœnigsthal,  charge 
d'affaires  of  Nuremberg,  was  lodged  in  the  upper  story.  We 
were  thus  more  crowded  than  at  the  time  of  the  occupation  of 
the  city  by  the  French.  This  was  an  excellent  pretext  for  me 
to  be  frequently  abroad  ;  and  the  desire  of  seeing  every  object 
of  public  notice  was  a  fair  excuse  for  my  continual  rovings.  1 
was  constantly  Traversing  the  city.  The  entry  of  the  ambassa- 
de ano  iL~\of  the  imperial  commissioner,  which  was  conduct- 
ed with  great  pomp,  occupied  our  attention.  The  Prince  of 
Lichtenstein  attracted  notice  by  the  air  of  dignity  that  belonged 
to  him.  Nevertheless  it  was  obser\ed  by  connoiseurs  that  his 
fine  liveries  had  already  been  worn  ;  and  hence  they  concluded 
that  this  coronation  would  not  be  equal  in  magnificence  to  that 
ôf  the  emperor  Charles  VII. 

The  election  was  at  length  fixed  for  the  3d  of  March, 
4  764.  The  whole  city  was  in  motion.  The  successive  recep- 
tion of  the  different  ambassadors  kept  us  continually  on  foot.  I 
was  obliged  to  observe  every  thing,  in  order  to  give  an  account  of 
it  *t  home,  and  to  draw  up  my  memoranda  of  all  that. took  place  : 
which  qualified  me  to  compose  a  faithful  journal  of  all  the  cere- 
monies and  public  acts  of  the  election  and  coronation.  Among 
the  persons  of  rank  who  then  attracted  my  attention,  1  was  most 
struck  with  the  martial  air  of  Prince  Esterhazy,  which  reminded 
me  of  Marshal  Broglie,  the  victor  of  Bergen.  But  all  these 
eminent  personages  were  in  great  measure  eclipsed  by  Baron 
Plotho,  who  represented  Frederic  the  Great  in  the  capacity  of 
elector  of  Brandenburg,  and  who,  as  the  envoy  of  that  celebrat- 
ed prince,  was  the  favourite  of  the  public.  The  parsimony 
which  characterized  his  dress,  livery,  and  equipages,  was  indeed 
remarked  ;  but  ever  since  the  seven  years'  war  he  had  been  look 
ed  upon  as  the  hero  of  diplomacy.    All  eyes  were  fixed  on  him 


68 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


as  he  ascended  to  the  Roman  palace,  a  murmur  of  approbation 
was  heard,  and  he  was  very  near  being  loudly  applauded.  Such 
were  the  effects  of  the  high  opinion  that  was  entertained  of  the 
Prussian  king.  The  whole  of  this  multitude  of  spectators  were 
for  him,  heart  and  soul  ;  nor  were  the  inhabitants  of  Frankfort, 
alone  thus  devoted  to  him,— all  the  Germans  participated  in  their 
sentiments  ! 

I  took  great  pleasure  in  all  these  ceremonies.  They  appeared 
to  me  to  have  a  profound  meaning,  and  to  be  admirably  adapted 
to  represent  the  intimate  union  of  the  German  states.  The 
empire  of  Germany,  which  might  almost  be  said  to  lie  buried  in 
the  dust  of  maps,  papers,  and  books,  seemed  to  us  restored  to 
life.  I  could  not,  however,  conceal  from  myself  that  some  radi- 
cal defect  seemed  to  lurk  beneath  all  this  pomp.  The  notes 
which  I  kept  under  my  father's  inspection,  convinced  me  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  German  powers  were  divided;  that  they  mu- 
tually sought  to  balance  each  other,  and  were  only  united  by  the 
intention  and  hope  of  imposing  stricter  limits  on  the  new  mo- 
narch. I  saw  each  sovereign  solely  occupied  in  preserving  and 
extending  his  influence  and  privileges,  by  securing  his  indepen- 
dence. Their  apprehensions  of  the  activity  of  Joseph  11.  and 
his  supposed  projects,  kept  them  all  on  the  alert. 

These  affairs  interrupted  our  usual  intercourse  with  my  grand- 
father and  relations  in  the  senate.  The  compliments  and  pre- 
sents they  had  to  make  to  their  illustrious  guests  occupied  all 
their  attentions.  The  magistrates  were  nevertheless  very  kdh-y 
with  their  protestations,  and  their  resistance  against  each  other's- 
pretensions.  I  had  now  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  that  Christian 
patience  and  long-suffering  which  had  so  much  astonished  me  in 
our  chronicles. 

The  arriving  multitude  hourly  increased,  and  multiplied  then 
difficulties  and  embarrassments  of  the  occasion.  In  vain  ha4 
the  superannuated  clauses  of  the  Golden  Bull  been  urged  to  each 
cabinet.  They  nevertheless  allowed,  not  only  those  who  were 
brought  to  Frankfort  by  the  occasion,  not  only  their  own  atten- 
dants, but  public  officers  and  private  individuals  attracted  mere- 
ly by  interest  or  curiosity,  to  present  themselves  under  their 
auspices.  There  was  therefore  no  fixed  rule  for  the  distribution 
of  the  gratuitous  lodgings. 

As  to  the  young  folks  like  myself,  the  spectacle  afforded  to  us 
was  not  always  satisfactory.  We  were  most  curious  respecting 
the  usages  and  costumes  of  old  times.  The  Spanish  cloaks,  and 
the  great  hats  and  feathers  of  the  ambassadors,  preserved,  indeed, 
some  traces  of  these  antiquities  ;  but  the  incongruity  and  bad 
taste  of  the  modern  costume  often  disgusted  us.  We  therefore 
heard  with  pleasure  that  preparations  were  making  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  Emperor  and  the  young  King  elect,  that  the  electoral 
college  would  soon  arrive,  and  that  the  election  was  fixed  for  the 
97th  of  March.    The  insignia  of  the  empire  were  brought  from 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE» 


Nuremburg  and  Aix-la-Chapelle.  The  ceremonies  that  were  in 
preparation  promised  to  fulfil  our  expectations  better  than  the 
preceding. 

The  entry  of  the  Elector  of  Mentz  took  place  on  the  2 1  st  of 
March.  Then  began  the  salutes  of  artillery,  with  which  we  were 
destined  for  a  long  time  to  be  stunned.  All  the  personages  who 
had  hitherto  appeared  were  only  subordinate  characters.  Now. 
for  the  first  time,  we  saw  an  independent  prince,  a  sovereign,  the 
next  in  rank  to  the  Emperor,  with  an  escort  suitable  to  his  dig- 
nity. 

On  the  same  day  Lavater,  returning  from  Berlin  and  passing 
through  Frankfort,  witnessed  this  ceremony.    All  this  worldly 
pomp  must  have  been  of  no  importance  in  his  sight.  Never- 
theless the  circumstances  of  this  solemn  entry  must  have  re- 
mained strongly  impressed  on  his  memory  :  for  long  afterward 
this  man,  whose  singularities  were  equal  to  his  merits,  having 
one  day  read  to  me  a  poetical  paraphrase  of  the  Apocalypse,  I 
recognised  in  the  description  of  the  march  of  Antichrist,  an 
exact  account  of  that  of  the  Elector  of  Mentz  on  his  entry  into 
Frankfort.    Lavater  had  not  even  forgotten  the  plumes  which 
adorned  the  heads  of  that  prince's  four  bay  horses.    I  shall  have 
more  to  say  on  this  subject  when  I  reach  the  period  of  that  sin- 
gular poetical  invention,  the  authors  of  which,  to  render  the  al- 
legories of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  more  sensible  to  us, 
have  clothed  them  in  a  modern  dress,  and  attributed  to  the  an- 
cient personages  who  figure  in  them  all  the  circumstances  of  our 
ordinary  way  of  life,  without  regard  to  the  greater  or  less  dig- 
nity of  the  particulars.    !t  would  have  been  impossible  to  go  be- 
yond Lavater  and  his  competitors  in  this  respect  ;  for  one  of 
them,  in  relating  the  entry  of  the  three  kings  or  magi  of  the  East 
into  Bethlehem,  has  so  completely  dressed  them  in  the  costume 
of  our  times,  that  no  one  could  mistake  the  princes  and  lords 
who  were  the  friends  of  the  celebrated  pastor  of  Zurich.  But 
let  us  for  the  present  leave  the  elector  Emeric-Joseph,  and  re- 
turn to  my  dear  Margaret.    I  perceived  her  just  as  the  crowd 
was  dispersing.    She  was  accompanied  by  Pylades  and  his  be- 
trothed (for  this  trio  seemed  to  have  become  inseparable.) 
We  immediately  resolved  to  pass  the  evening  together.    1  was 
at  liberty  that  day.     All  our  usual   party  had  assembled, 
Every  one  was  relating  what  he  had  seen,  and  making  his  re- 
marks.    "  All  you  tell  me,"   said  Margaret,  "  is  still  less 
intelligible  to  me  than  the  events  of  the  day.    I  cannot  ac- 
count for  them,  and  yet  I  should  like  to  understand  some- 
thing of  the  matter."    1  proposed  to  assist  her  5  for  which  pur- 
pose I  saw  no  better  plan  than  that  of  relating  in  regular  succes- 
sion all  the  particulars  of  these  ceremonies,  which  I  compared 
to  a  play,  where  the  curtain  is  alternately  raised  and  let  down, 
the  better  to  enable  the  spectators  to  fix  in  their  minds  the  several 
subjects  represented.    With  the  help  of  a  slate  and  pencil,  I  ex- 
plained whatever  obscurities  my  expressions  might  have  left  in 


jiEiiOIRS  OF  GO&THE. 


my  narration.  The  extreme  attention  which  Margaret  paid  en- 
couraged me  ;  and  every  one,  in  short,  appeared  satisfied  with 
my  explanations.  When  I  had  finished  this  description,  she 
thanked  me  ;  declaring  how  much  she  envied  those  who  were 
sufficiently  well  informed  to  conceive  a  correct  idea  of  remark- 
able objects.  She  regretted  that  she  was  only  a  woman  ;  and 
assured  me,  in  a  very  affectionate  manner,  how  grateful  she  felt 
for  what  she  had  already  learnt  of  me.  "  Were  I  a  young  man," 
said  she,  "  we  would  go  and  study  together  at  the  university. 
We  should  both  improve  greatly."  We  continued  to  converse 
in  this  manner  ;  and  she  expressed  a  wish  to  learn  French,  which 
language  she  found  would  be  indispensable  for  her  as  a  milliner. 

A  young  couple,  apparently  formed  by  nature  to  love  each 
other,  never  feel  a  more  powerful  mutual  attraction  than  when 
one  is  desirous  to  learn,  and  the  other  eager  to  teach.  From 
this  reciprocal  inclination  arises  the  most  intimate  and  amiable 
intercourse.  The  mistress  cherishes  in  her  lover  the  creator  of 
her  intellectual  existence,  The  lover  delights  to  contemplate 
his  own  work  in  the  moral  improvement  of  his  mistress,  who 
hence  becomes  dearer  to  him  than  before.  This  interchange  of 
docility  and  instruction  is  so  delightful,  that  from  Abelard  to  Saint 
Preux,  connexions  of  this  kind  have  given  rise  to  the  most  ardent 
passions,  the  most  exquisite  happiness,  and  the  most  unparalleled 
sufferings. 

During  the  solemnities  attendant  on  the  arrival  of  the  Empe- 
ror and  King,  and  the  election,  I  had  scarcely  had  a  moment  to 
myself.  At  length  arrived  the  end  of  the  month  of  March,  the 
latter  half  of  which  had  produced  us  so  many  splendid  fêtes.  I 
had  promised  Margaret  a  full  and  particular  description  of  all 
that  had  been  done,  and  of  the  preparations  for  the  approaching 
coronation.  I  rapidly  wrote  down  an  account  of  all  I  had  seen, 
and  of  all  the  information  I  had  collected  at  the  chancery.  At 
length  I  found  an  opportunity,  at  a  late  hour  one  evening,  to  pay 
her  a  visit.  I  found  our  society  assembled  ;  but  there  were 
others  in  company,  with  whom  I  was  unacquainted.  They  were 
all  engaged  in  play.  Margaret  and  the  younger  of  her  cousins 
were  the  only  persons  who  attended  to  me.  This  charming  girl 
expressed  in  the  most  pleasing  manner  how  highly  she  had  been 
gratified  in  having  witnessed  the  spectacle  of  the  solemnities,  as 
if  she  had  been  a  native  of  the  city  of  Frankfort.*  She  listened 
to  my  descriptions  with  interest,  and  expressed  the  liveliest  grati- 
tude for  my  attention  to  her. 

Time  fled  rapidly  and  unnoticed  by  us  during  this  conversa- 
tion. It  was  already  past  midnight,  and  unfortunately  I  had  for- 
gotten the  key  of  our  door.  1  could  not  attempt  to  return  home, 
without  running  the  risk  of  being  remarked  and  interrogated.  I 
imparted  my  embarrassment  to  Margaret.  "  The  best  thing  we 
can  do,"  said  she,  "  is  to  remain  all  together."    Her  cousine 


*  Strangers  in  general  had  been  obliged  to  leave  the  city. — Ep. 


MEMOIRS  OF  SOËTHE. 


7i 


and  the  rest,  not  knowing  where  to  go  at  that  hour,  had  already 
thought  of  the  same  expedient  :  it  was  soon  generally  adopted. 
Margaret  went  out  to  prepare  coffee  ;  and,  as  the  candles  were 
nearly  going  out,  she  lighted  a  great  lamp,  The  coffee  enliven- 
ed us,  and  kept  us  awake  during  great  part  of  the  night.  By  de- 
grees play  was  given  over,  and  conversation  ceased.  The  hostess 
fell  asleep  in  a  great  arm-chair.  The  strangers,  fatigued  with 
their  journey,  were  snoring  here  and  there.  Pylades  and  his 
mistress  sat  in  a  corner  :  she  was  asleep,  with  her  head  reclining 
on  the  shoulder  of  her  lover,  who  speedily  followed  her  example . 
The  youngest  of  the  cousins  slept  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
arms,  which  were  folded  on  the  table.  1  sat  near  the  window, 
and  Margaret  near  me:  we  conversed  uninterruptedly.  At 
length  sleep  assumed  its  empire  over  her  also  :  she  leaned  her 
lovely  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  immediately  fell  asleep.  I  was 
thus  left  the  only  person  awake,  in  the  most  singular  situation  in 
which  the  brother  of  death  could  have  surprised  me;  1  yielded 
at  last  to  his  influence.  When  1  awoke  it  was  already  broad  day. 
Margaret  stood  before  the  glass,  arranging  her  hat.  She  appear- 
ed to  me  more  lovely  than  ev  er  ;  and  as  she  quitted  us,  she 
pressed  my  hand  in  the  most  allectionate  manner.  I  returned 
homewards  by  a  by-way,  avoiding  the  direction  in  which  I  might 
have  been  perceived  by  my  father.  My  mother,  whose  media- 
tion we  constantly  resorted  to,  had  excused  my  absence  in  the 
morning,  at  breakfast-time,  by  pretending  thai  1  had  gone  out 
very  early.  Thus  I  was  spared  any  unpleasant  consequences 
from  this  night,  which  I  passed  amidst  the  most  harmless  plea- 
sures. 

On  the  whole,  the  busy  crowd  in  which  I  moved  left  no  very 
lively  impressions  on  my  mind.  I  should  have  taken  no  farther 
interest  in  these  varied  pageants,  than  would  have  enabled  me 
to  make  a  dry  report  of  what  I  had  seen  to  my  father  and  Mr. 
Kœnigsthal  ;  but  since  all  my  wishes  had  been  centred  in  Mar- 
garet, J  had  thought  of  nothing  but  how  to  see  every  thing  well, 
and  to  discover  the  true  meaning  of  all  I  saw.  1  repeated  to 
myself,  aloud,  all  the  particulars  of  each  remarkable  circum- 
stance, that  I  might  fix  them  in  my  mind,  in  hopes  of  hearing  my 
attention  and  accuracy  praised  by  her  whom  3  loved.  All  other 
testimonies  of  approbation  Ï  considered  as  merely  accessory. 

I  had  been  presented  to  many  persons  of  distinction.  But 
some  of  them  had  had  no  leisure  to  attend  to  me  ;  others,  al- 
though they  had  children  themselves,  were  wholly  unacquainted 
with  the  art  of  gaining  a  young  man's  confidence.  1,  on  my 
part,  was  by  no  means  solicitous  to  make  myself  agreeable. 
Accordingly  there  were  some  who  favoured  me  with  their  pro- 
tection, but  yet  did  not  honour  me  with  their  esteem.  I  was  ex- 
cessively eager  in  every  pursuit  that  attracted  me,  but  I  never 
inquired  whether  it  interested  others  or  not.  I  was  almost  al- 
ways too  volatile  or  infatuated  :  1  was  sometimes  considered  ac 


ilEMoiKb  OF  GOilTHE- 


troublesome,  and  sometimes  as  reserved.  This  depended  on  the 
attraction  or  repugnance  I  felt.  Hence  even  those  who  con- 
sidered me  as  a  promising  youth  accused  me  of  singularity. 

After  the  coronation  there  was  a  brilliant  illumination,  from 
which  I  expected  much  pleasure,  having  promised  the  three  in- 
separable friends,  Margaret,  Pylades,  and  his  mistress,  to  meet 
them  at  night,  for  the  purpose  of  going  with  them  to  see  the  illu- 
minations. The  town  was  already  resplendent  with  light  when 
I  found  myself  with  my  dear  Margaret.  I  took  her  arm.  We 
walked  through  the  streets.  We  were  all  four  happy  in  being 
together.  Her  cousins  at  first  joined  us,  but  we  soon  lost  them 
in  the  crowd.  In  front  of  the  hotels  of  the  different  ambassa- 
dors, and  particularly  of  that  of  the  ambassador  of  the  Elector 
Palatine,  the  magnificent  illuminations  rivalled  the  brightness  of 
day.  For  fear  of  being  recognised  by  any  one,  1  kept  silence, 
without  giving  offence  to  Margaret.  We  were  induced  to  walk 
a  great  distance  in  order  to  see  the  illumination  at  the  Prussian 
ambassador's  hotel.  We  were  much  disappointed  ;  it  was  mean 
and  ridiculous,  M.  de  Plotho  had  taken  this  opportunity  of 
showing  his  sentiments  ;  and  the  disdain  which  he,  like  the  King 
his  master,  manifested  on  every  occasion  for  ceremonies.  We 
hastened  back  to  Prince  Esterhazy's  palace,  the  illumination  of 
which  exceeded  all  the  others  in  taste  and  splendour.  He  had 
converted  a  quarter  that  was  by  no  means  favourable  into  a  com- 
plete fairy-land.  Wine  and  eatables  were  here  continually  dis- 
tributed. 

We  were  delighted  with  this  part  of  our  walk.  By  the  side 
of  Margaret  I  fancied  myself  in  an  Elysium,  where  crystal  vases, 
suspended  to  the  trees,  were  filled  with  a  delicious  liquor  ;  and 
where  the  fruits,  as  they  fell,  were  changed  into  exquisite  viands. 
We  now  felt  it  necessary  to  recruit  our  strength,  after  so  long  a 
walk.  Pylades  took  us  into  a  very  neat  tavern.  We  had  a  good 
supper  served  up,  and  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  all 
the  joy  and  happiness  which  the  liveliest  and  purest  sentiments 
of  love  and  friendship  could  inspire.  I  attended  Margarethomc 
to  her  door.  When  we  parted  she  impressed  a  kiss  on  my  fore- 
head. It  was  the  first  time  she  had  granted  me  that  favour,  and 
it  proved  the  last.    Alas  !  I  was  never  to  see  her  more  ! 

The  next  morning,  before  I  had  risen,  my  mother  entered  my 
chamber.  She  appeared  much  distressed  and  agitated.  "  Rise,1,1 
said  she,  "  and  prepare  for  bad  news  :  we  are  informed  that  you 
have  been  keeping  bad  company,  and  you  are  implicated  in  se- 
rious accusations  of  the  most  dangerous  nature.  Your  father  is 
distracted,  and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  that  we  obtained  leave 
to  have  you  interrogated  by  a  third  person.  Remain  in  your 
chamber,  and  wait  for  the  counsellor  Schneider.  Your  father 
and  the  magistrates  have  appointed  him  to  hear  you,  for  the  pro- 
ceedings have  already  commenced,  and  the  affair  may  take  a  very 
unfortunate  turn." 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE, 


I  plainly  saw  that  this  matter  appeared  to  my  mother  much 
more  serious  than  it  really  was,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned  ;  but  I 
was  not  a  little  uneasy  at  the  idea  that  all  my  secret  connexions 
were  about  to  be  discovered.  At  length  our  old  admirer  of  Klop- 
stock  appeared,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  took  me  by  the  arm, 
saying,  "  It  is  an  affliction  to  me  to  be  sent  to  you  upon  an  occa- 
sion like  this.  1  should  never  have  believed  that  you  would  have 
forgotten  yourself  in  this  manner.  But  what  may  not  be  effected 
by  bad  company  and  bad  examples  !  Thus  it  is  that  an  inexpe- 
rienced youth  may  be  led  on  step  by  step  into  guilt." — "My 
conscience,"  I  replied,  "  accuses  me  neither  of  guilt  nor  of  keep- 
ing bad  company."  "  It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  defend  yourself; 
all  that  you  have  to  do  is  to  confess  candidly  the  whole  truth." — - 
"  What  is  it  you  wish  to  know  ?"  Ï  replied,--  He  then  sat  down, 
took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  question  me.  "  Did 
you  not  recommend  N.  N.  to  your  grandfather  for  a  clerk's  si- 
tuation ?"  I  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "  Where  did  you 
become  acquainted  with  him  ?" — "  In  my  walks." — "  With 
whom  was  he  ?"  I  was  silent,  not  choosing  to  betray  my  friends. 
"  Your  silence  will  be  unavailing  ;  the  whole  is  already  disco- 
vered :  this  young  man  was  introduced  to  you  by  some  of  your 
comrades,  and  particularly  by  — ."  Here  he  mentioned  three 
persons  whose  names  were  wholly  unknown  to  me.  1  imme- 
diately told  him  so.  u  You  will  not  confess  this  connexion,  yet 
you  have  been  but  too  intimate  with  them." — "  Not  at  all  ;  for, 
as  I  have  already  told  you,  except  the  first  whom  you  named,  not 
one  of  them  is  known  to  me  ;  and  even  him  I  never  saw  but  in 

the  open  air."    "  Have  you  not  frequently  been  to   street  ?" 

— "  Never."  This  was  not  strictly  true  ;  I  had  sometimes  ac- 
companied Pylades  to  his  mistress's,  who  lived  there.  But  we 
had  always  entered  by  the  back  door  ;  and  !  therefore  thought 
myself  at  liberty  to  say  I  had  not  been  in  the  street* 

Honest  Schneider  then  asked  me  many  other  questions,  all  of 
which  I  was  able  to  answer  in  the  negative  without  prevarica- 
tion. In  fact  I  knew  nothing  of  all  he  was  inquiring  about.  At 
last  he  seemed  dissatisfied,  and  said  :  "  You  are  making  me  a  bad 
return  for  my  confidence  in  you,  and  the  good  will  I  bear  towards 
you.  You  cannot  deny  that  you  have  composed  letters  for  these 
parties  or  their  accomplices,  and  that  you  have  thus  promoted 
their  wicked  schemes.  I  come  to  save  you,  for  the  matters  in 
question  are  nothing  less  than  forged  writings,  wills,  bills  of  ex- 
change, and  other  similar  acts.  I  am  not  here  merely  as  the 
friend  of  the  family  ;  I  attend  in  the  name  and  by  order  of  the 
magistrates,  who,  in  consideration  of  your  family  and  your  youth, 
are  willing  to  act  indulgently  towards  you  and  those  youths  who, 
like  yourself,  have  been  caught  in  the  snare."  Among  the  per- 
sons  he  named  there  was  not  one  with  whom  I  had  been  inti- 
mate. His  questions  could,  therefore,  only  have  an  indirect  re- 
ference to  mv  acquaintances,  and  I  retained  hopes  of  saving  mv 

K 


74 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE. 


young  friends  ;  but  my  skilful  interrogator  became  more  and 
more  urgent.  I  could  not  deny  that  I  had  several  times  come 
home  late  at  night  ;  that  I  had  found  means  to  procure  a  key  of 
the  house  ;  that  I  had  several  times  been  seen  in  parties  of  plea- 
sure with  youths  of  an  inferior  class  of  life  to  mine,  and  of  doubt- 
ful appearance  ;  that  girls  had  also  been  seen  in  our  company  ; 
in  short,  I  saw  that  all  was  discovered  except  the  names  of  my 
friends,  which  encouraged  me  to  persevere  in  my  silence.  "  Do 
not  let  me  leave  you  thus,"  said  our  worthy  friend  ;  "  the  affair 
must  be  speedily  cleared  up,  otherwise  some  other  person  will 
visit  you,  who  will  not  be  trifled  with.  Let  not  your  obstinacy 
render  a  case  worse,  which  is  bad  enough  already." 

I  now  represented  to  myself  in  the  strongest  colours,  the  si- 
tuation of  Margaret  and  her  cousins.  1  saw  them  imprisoned, 
tried  by  a  prejudiced  tribunal,  punished,  and  abandoned  to  in- 
famy. A  ray  of  light  occurred  to  my  mind,  which  convinced 
me  that  although  they  might  be  innocent  with  respect  to  me, 
they  might  have  interfered  in  blâmable  transactions,  especially 
the  eldest,  whom  I  had  never  liked,  who  always  joined  us  very 
late,  and  who  never  had  any  thing  good  to  communicate  to  us. 
I  was,  however,  firm  in  not  disclosing  my  connexions.  u  I  have 
personally  nothing  serious  to  reproach  myself  with,"  said  I  to 
Mr.  Schneider  ;  "  Ï  may  therefore  dismiss  all  apprehensions  on 
my  own  account.  It  might,  nevertheless,  not  be  impossible  that 
some  of  those  with  whom  I  have  associated  might  have  been 
guilty  of  some  offence.  They  may  be  discovered,  taken  up, 
tried,  and  punished;  but  I  will  never  betray  people  who  have 
always  acted  in  an  honourable  and  friendly  way  towards  me." 

"  No  doubt,"  cried  he,  angrily  interrupting  me,  "  they  will 
be  found.  These  bad  characters  used  to  meet  at  three  houses." 
He  then  named  the  streets,  described  the  houses,  and  among 
them,  unluckily,  that  which  I  frequented.  "  The  first  of  these 
haunts  has  already  been  searched,"  said  he,  "  and  the  same 
thing  is  now  doing  at  the  other  two.  In  a  few  hours  all  will  be 
discovered.  Do  not  hesitate  to  save  yourself  by  an  oral  decla- 
ration from  a  juridical  information,  from  being  confronted  with 
the  accused,  and  all  the  unpleasant  consequences  of  such  pro- 
ceedings." The  house  being  thus  named  and  described,  it  was 
useless  to  remain  silent  any  longer.  Besides  1  had  hopes  that 
by  urging  the  innocence  of  our  meetings,  I  might  serve  the  ac- 
cused. a  Sit  down  then,"  said  I  to  my  examiner,  who  was  lea- 
ving the  room,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  all,  and  relieve  your  heart 
and  my  own.  I  have  only  one  request  to  make,  and  that  is,  that 
from  this  moment  you  will  rely  on  my  perfect  veracity." 

I  then  informed  him  of  all  that  had  happened.  At  first  1  spoke 
with  calmness  ;  but  as  I  proceeded  in  describing  persons,  things, 
and  circumstances,  so  many  innocent  pleasures,  so  much  harm- 
less enjovment  ending  in  a  criminal  proceeding,  the  emotions  of 
çrief  which  1  felt  became  so  powerful,  that  I  at  length  burst  into 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


1o 


tears,  and  abandoned  myself  to  the  most  violent  affliction.  Mr. 
Schneider  considered  my  sufferings  as  arising  from  the  internal 
conflict  I  felt  on  the  point  of  discovering  some  criminal  act.  He 
endeavoured  to  calm  my  agitation,  and  in  some  measure  suc- 
ceeded, that  is  to  say,  he  induced  me  to  relate  my  whole  history 
to  him.  But,  although  he  was  glad  to  find  nothing  blâmable  in 
what  had  taken  place  as  far  as  regarded  me,  he  still  seemed  to 
doubt  that  I  had  told  him  all  :  and  by  his  new  questions  he  re- 
newed my  grief,  and  drove  me  almost  out  of  my  senses.  At 
length  I  assured  him  that  I  had  nothing  more  to  communicate  ; 
that  I  was  certain  I  had  nothing  to  fear,  being  innocent,  of  a 
good  family,  and  well  supported.  But  my  companions  who 
were  accused  might  be  equally  innocent,  and  find  no  one  to  be- 
lieve their  innocence  and  protect  them,  and  that  was  the  cause 
of  my  grief.  I  also  declared  to  him^hat  unless  they  were 
treated  with  as  much  indulgence  as  mJ0elf,  unless  their  follies 
and  faults  were  excused,  and  in  case  the  least  degree  of  harsh- 
ness or  injustice  should  be  shown  towards  them,  nothing  in  the 
world  should  prevent  me  from  sharing  all  the  injury  done  to  them. 
My  friend  tried  to  satisfy  me  on  this  point  ;  but  1  did  not  con- 
fide in  his  promises,  and  when  he  quitted  me  I  was  in  the  deep- 
est affliction.  I  blamed  myself  for  having  told  him  every  thing, 
and  disclosed  the  secret  of  all  my  connexions.  1  foresaw  that 
our  youthful  amusements,  our  tender  inclinations,  and  our  mu- 
tual confidence,  might  be  misinterpreted.  Perhaps  i  had  com- 
promised poor  Pylades,  and  done  him  great  injury.  All  these 
reflections  presented  themselves  to  my  mind  with  so  much  force, 
and  rendered  my  grief  so  poignant,  that  I  felt  myself  unable  to 
resist  the  despair  that  was  gaining  on  me.  I  rolled  on  the  floor, 
and  drenched  its  boards  with  my  tears. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  had  remained  in  this  sorrowful  plight, 
when  my  sister  came  in  :  she  was  terrified  at  my  behaviour,  and 
endeavoured  to  raise  my  courage.  She  told  me  that  a  magis- 
trate had  waited  in  my  father's  room  whilst  our  friend  Schneider 
was  with  me  ;  that  they  had  all  three  been  closetted  together  a 
long  time  ;  and  that  when  Schneider  and  the  magistrate  went 
away,  they  were  conversing  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  and  even 
laughing.  She  thought  she  had  distinguished  the  words,  "  This 
is  all  very  well  ;  there  is  nothing  in  all  this." — "  No  doubts- 
cried  I,  "  there  is  nothing  in  it  with  respect  to  me,  and  such  as 
me.  I  have  committed  no  offence  ;  and,  even  were  1  guilty, 
means  would  be  found  to  protect  me.  But  my  friends,  my  poor 
friends  !  who  will  take  their  part  !" — My  sister  endeavoured  to 
console  me,  saying,  that  when  it  was  wished  to  spare  the  great, 
it  was  also  necessary  to  throw  a  veil  over  the  faults  of  the  little. 
She  did  not  succeed.  Scarcely  had  she  left  me  when  I  again 
gave  way  to  my  sorrow.  1  was  alternately  tortured  by  the 
strength  of  my  passion  for  Margaret,  and  by  the  dread  of  the 
misfortune  which  threatened  us.    My  mind  was  occupied  with 


7€ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


the  most  melancholy  reveries,  all  representing  to  my  fancy  our 
mutual  wretchedness. 

Our  friend  Schneider  had  desired  me  to  remain  in  my  room, 
and  not  to  converse  on  this  affair  with  any  one  but  my  relations. 
I  readily  obeyed,  for  all  I  wished  for  was  to  be  left  alone.  My 
mother  and  sister  visited  me  from  time  to  time.  They  did  every 
thing  that  seemed  likely  to  console  me  :  on  the  second  day  they 
came  on  the  part  of  my  father,  who  was  now  better  informed,  to 
offer  me  a  complete  amnesty  for  the  past,  which  i  accepted  with 
gratitude  ;  but  1  positively  declined  fiis  invitation  to  accompany 
him  to  see  the  insignia  of  the  empire,  which  were  then  the  ob- 
jects of  general  curiosity.  I  declared  that  1  would  see  nothing 
that  was  passing  in  the  world,  that  1  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Roman  empire,  until  1  could  obtain  better  information  respecting 
the  fate  of  my  poor  fiends.  They  left  me  without  being  able 
to  give  me  any  intelli*  '  .ce  respecting  them.  On  the  following 
day  1  was  urged  to  attend  the  festivities,  but  in  vain.  Neither 
the  grand  gala  day,  nor  the  desire  of  seeing  so  many  great  person- 
ages assembled,  or  the  two  great  potentates  dining  in  public, 
could  prevail  on  me.  1  left  these  princes  to  receive  and  return 
the  visits  of  the  electors  :  the  electoral  college  to  meet  in  order 
to  regulate  the  points  still  remaining  unsettled,  and  to  re-estab- 
lish harmony  among  its  members,  whilst  I  remained  sunk  in  soli- 
tary wretchedness.  At  length  the  bells  announced  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  solemnities  :  the  emperor  went  to  the  church  of  the 
Capuchins  ;  the  King,  his  son,  and  the  electors  departed  ;  whilst 
nothing  could  induce  me  to  leave  my  chamber.  Even  the  report 
of  the  last  salutes  of  artillery  had  no  effect  on  me.  All  my  curi- 
osity had  evaporated,  as  the  gunpowder  had  mingled  with 
the  air. 

The  only  pleasure  I  indulged  in  was  the  melancholy  one  of 
sounding  the  lowest  depth  of  my  misfortunes,  which  I  represent- 
ed to  myself  in  a  thousand  different  forms.  The  whole  power 
of  my  imagination  only  served  to  bring  back  these  gloomy  ideas 
perpetually  to  my  mind.  The  violence  of  my  grief,  supported 
and  aggravated  by  solitude,  threatened  at  once  the  destruction  of 
my  body  and  mind  by  an  incurable  disorder.  I  no  longer  form- 
ed any  wishes  ;  nothing  seemed  to  me  worth  wishing  for.  My 
only  desire  was  to  know  the  fate  of  my  friends,  and  above  all, 
that  of  Margaret.  Had  they  been  able  to  make  good  their  de- 
fence? Were  they  implicated  by  the  informations  in  the  offen- 
ces under  prosecution?  and  if  so,  to  what  extent?  Such  were 
the  anxieties  that  tormented  me.  When  1  considered  all  the  cir- 
cumstances known  to  me,  I  always  concluded  in  their  favour  : 
I  saw  them  innocent  and  unfortunate.  When  1  felt  myself 
sinking  under  the  distressing  suspense  I  was  kept  in,  1  wrote  to 
our  friend  Schneider,  conjuring  him  in  the  most  urgent  manner 
to  relieve  me  from  my  anxiety.    But  presently  after,  dreading  to 


JEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE. 


77 


learn  the  full  extent  of  my  misfortune,  I  tore  my  letters.  Thus 
was  my  heart  alternately  the  victim  of  hope  and  grief. 

My  days  and  nights  were  passed  in  tears.  An  illness  now 
seized  me,  which  I  looked  upon  in  some  measure  as  a  blessing. 
Its  appearance  was  sufficiently  alarming  to  require  the  physi- 
cian's aid,  and  that  every  thing  possible  should  be  done  to  tran- 
quillize me.  This  the)  thought  to  effect  by  assuring  me  on  oath, 
but  without  entering  into  particulars,  that  all  who  had  been  more 
or  less  implicated  had  been  treated  with  the  greatest  indulgence  ; 
that  my  friends,  whose  innocence  had  doubtless  been  acknow- 
ledged, had  got  oif  with  a  reprimand  ;  and  that  my  dear  Marga- 
ret had  left  the  city  to  return  to  her  native  place.  I  did  not  be- 
lieve this  concluding  part  of  the  account  ;  I  judged  that  it  had 
been  a  disgraceful  banishment,  not  a  voluntary  removal.  This 
intelligence  was  not  adapted  to  improve  the  state  of  my  health 
and  spirits.  The  disorder  accordingly  increased,  and  gave  me 
time  to  meditate  on  the  romance  of  which  I  had  become  the 
hero; — on  this  singular  romance,  so  fertile  in  sorrowful  events, 
and  so  likely,  as  it  seemed,  to  terminate  in  a  tragical  catastro- 
phe, of  which  I  was  destined  to  be  the  victim. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  state  of  my  feelings  contributed  sometimes  to  retard, 
and  sometimes  to  hasten,  my  recovery  ;  which  was  now  impeded 
by  a  fresh  vexation.  I  perceived  that  I  was  watched,  and  that 
no  letter  reached  me,  of  which  the  probable  effect  had  not  first 
been  ascertained.  Hence  I  concluded  that  Pylades,  one  of 
Margaret's  cousins,  or  perhaps  she  herself,  had  endeavoured  to 
give  me  some  information  by  writing,  or  to  obtain  some  intelli- 
gence of  me.    This  afforded  fresh  food  for  my  imagination. 

I  soon  had  a  superintendent  placed  over  me.  Fortunately  it 
was  a  young  man  whom  I  loved  and  esteemed.  He  had  been 
governor  to  the  heir  of  a  great  family  ;  his  pupil  had  gone  alone 

to  the  university.    N  frequently  came  to  see  me  during  my 

illness.  It  seemed  a  matter  of  course  to  give  him  a  chamber 
near  mine.  He  endeavoured  to  divert  me  by  occupying  my  at- 
tention, and  never  lost  si^ht  of  me.  1  had  already  confided  to 
him  the  greater  part  of  what  had  happened  to  me,  except  my  af- 
fection for  Margaret  ;  and  I  now  resolved  to  disclose  every  thing 
to  him.  The  idea  of  constantly  maintaining  reserve  with  a 
friend  was  insupportable  to  me.  I  therefore  opened  my  heart 
to  him  :  1  found  it  some  relief  to  relate  all  the  circumstances,  to 
retrace  all  the  particulars  of  pleasures  now  fled  for  ever.  My 
Mentor  was  a  man  of  sense.    He  readily  perceived  that  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


best  way  was  to  inform  me  fully  of  the  result  of  the  prosecutions, 
and  that  nothing  ought  to  be  concealed  from  me.  He  saw  that, 
after  making  me  an  unreserved  communication,  he  should  be 
better  authorized  to  urge  me  to  hear  reason  :  he  might  expect 
to  be  more  willingly  listened  to,  whilst  persuading  me  to  banish 
all  thoug!  ts  of  the  past,  and  to  begin  a  new  life. 

He  therefore  began  by  informing  me  of  the  fate  of  these 
youths,  who,  having  begun  with  mystifications,  had  suffered  them- 
selves to  be  drawn  into  frolics  suspiciously  looked  upon  by  the 
police,  and  afterward  into  feats  of  dexterity  that  savoured  strong- 
ly of  roguery.  From  all  these  irregularities  had  sprung  a  kind  of 
conspiracy,  in  which  some  unprincipled  men  had  unfortunately 
engaged.  The  latter,  beginning  with  imitating  signatures  and 
counterfeiting  handwritings,  had  soon  proceeded  to  criminal 
acts.  1  impatiently  asked  him  to  which  of  these  two  classes 
Margaret's  cousins  belonged,  and  I  heard  with  joy  that  their  com- 
plete innocence  had  been  acknowledged.  Although  they  were 
known  to  the  real  criminals,  they  had  cleared  themselves  of  all 
suspicion  of  participation.  My  client,  the  young  man  whom  I 
had  recommended  to  my  grandfather,  (which  had  put  the  magis- 
trates on  the  scent  of  my  connexion  with  his  friends,)  was,  un- 
luckily, one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  whole  troop.  His  ob- 
ject in  soliciting  the  employment  he  had  asked  for,  was  to  obtain 
an  opportunity  of  concealing  or  carrying  on  some  of  his  villan- 
ous  schemes.  This  intelligence  only  increased  my  impatience 
to  know  the  truth  of  Margaret's  destiny.  1  pressed  my  friend  to 
let  me  know  it,  again  frankly  acknowledging  all  my  tenderness 

for  her.    N  shaking  his  head,  began  to  laugh.    "  Set  your 

mind  at  ease,"  said  he:  "  she  conducted  herself  extremely  well, 
and  the  propriety  of  her  behaviour  was  very  handsomely  ac- 
knowledged. Formed  as  she  is  to  inspire  love  and  good  will, 
even  her  judges  felt  the  power  of  her  charms,  and  could  not  op- 
pose the  wish  she  persisted  in  to  remove  from  the  city.  What 
she  declared  respecting  you  also  does  her  honour.  I  have  read 
her  deposition  in  the  secret  acts,  and  seen  her  signature." — 
"  Her  signature  !"  1  exclaimed  ;  "that  signature  which  at  once 
rendered  me  so  happy  and  so  unfortunate  !  What  has  she  de- 
clared ?  what  has  she  signed  ?"  My  friend  hesitated  to  answer. 
The  serenity  of  his  countenance  nevertheless  announced  nothing 
unpleasant.  At  last,  41  As  you  insist  upon  knowing,"  said  he, 
"  1  will  tell  you.  When  she  was  questioned  respecting  her  inti- 
macy with  you  :  I  cannot  deny,  she  answered  in  a  candid  man- 
ner, that  I  have  often  seen  him,  and  with  pleasure.  But  I  al- 
ways considered,  and  treated  him  as  a  child.  The  affection  I 
entertained  for  him  was  merely  that  of  a  sister.  1  have  often 
given  him  good  advice  ;  and  far  from  enticing  him  into  any  ques- 
tionable proceeding,  I  have  prevented  him  from  engaging  in 
frolics  that  might  have  brought  him  into  trouble."  My  friend 
went  on  in  this  style,  making  Margaret  hold  the  language  of  a 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


79 


governess  ;  but  I  had  long  ceased  to  listen  to  him.  The  idea 
that  she  had  treated  me  as  a  child,  in  an  authentic  document, 
distracted  me:  I  was  completely  disenchanted,  and  I  thought 
myself  entirely  cured  of  my  passion  for  her  :  1  immediately  as- 
sured my  friend  that  î  was  so.  I  ceased  to  speak  of  her,  and 
mentioned  her  name  no  more.  I  could  not,  however,  so  quickly 
get  rid  of  the  dangerous  habit  of  thinking  of  her  whom  I  had 
loved  so  dearly.  Her  countenance,  her  form,  her  deportment, 
were  always  present  to  my  mind,  although  I  now  saw  her  in  a 
very  différent  light.  1  could  not,  in  fact,  endure  that  a  young 
girl,  scarcely  two  or  three  years  older  than  myself,  should  look 
upon  me  as  a  child, — on  me,  who  thought  myself  quite  a  young 
man.  That  cold  and  reserved  air,  which  had  charmed  me  so 
much,  now  appeared  to  me  quite  revolting,  Those  familiarities 
which  she  thought  harmless  towards  me,  and  never  permitted 
me  to  indulge  in  with  her,  seemed  odious.  1  could,  however, 
have  pardoned  her  these  lofty  airs  ;  but  by  signing  that  letter  in 
which  1  had  made  her  speak  the  language  of  a  lover,  she  had 
given  me  a  formal  declaration.  This  appeared  to  me  the  act  of 
a  faithless  and  selfish  coquette.  Her  masquerading  at  the  milli- 
ner's no  longer  seemed  so  innocent.  By  incessantly  revolving 
these  painful  reflections  in  my  mind,  I  stripped  her  by  degrees 
of  all  those  qualities  which  had  appeared  so  amiable  to  me  ;  and 
when  once  my  reason  was  convinced,  I  felt  the  necessity  of 
banishing  from  my  heart  an  object  unworthy  of  my  love.  But 
her  image,  that  cherished  image,  renewed  my  error  whenever  it 
recurred  to  my  mind,  which  happened  but  too  often. 

At  length  I  plucked  the  fatal  dart  from  my  breast.  Reflection, 
and  that  vigorous  health  so  propitious  to  youth,  came  to  my  aid  ; 
and  1  made  serious  efforts  to  recover  myself.  This  excessive 
grief  began  to  appear  childish  to  me.  This  was  an  important 
step  towards  my  restoration.  Hitherto  I  had  abandoned  myself 
unreservedly  every  night  to  these  storms  of  sorrow.  Exhausted 
by  tears  and  sighs,  I  could  scarcely  breathe.  The  disordered 
state  of  my  chest  rendered  every  meal  a  painful  task  to  me. 
Deeply  wounded  in  my  feelings,  I  resolved  to  endeavour  to 
banish  all  these  weaknesses.  I  now  thought  it  unbecoming  to 
sacrifice  sleep,  repose,  and  health,  to  my  passion  for  a  girl  who 
had  amused  herself  with  acting  the  part  of  my  nurse,  which 
suited  neither  her  nor  me. 

To  deliver  myself  from  all  the  ideas  which  nourished  my  dis- 
order, 1  had  but  one  resource — and  that  was  activity.  I  was 
fully  sensible  of  this.  But  what  was  to  be  the  object  of  my 
exertions  ?  I  had,  indeed,  to  improve  myself  in  various  studies. 
I  had  to  prepare  myself  for  the  university,  whither  my  age  would 
shortly  call  me.  But  nothing  interested  me,  and  in  nothing  could 
I  succeed.  Many  subjects  were  either  too  well  known  to  me 
already,  or  appeared  unworthy  of  my  attention.  For  others,  I 
found  neither  faculties  nor  opportunity.    At  last  my  friend's  own 


80 


MEMOTRS  OF  GOETHE. 


peculiar  taste  led  me  into  a  study  which  was  wholly  new  to  me  : 
he  undertook  to  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries  of  philosophy. 
He  thus  opened  to  my  industry  an  ample  harvest  of  research, 
meditations,  and  knowledge.  N —  had  studied  at  Jena,  under 
Daries.  His  methodical  mind  had  embraced  with  great  sagacity 
the  entire  doctrine  of  his  master,  which  he  endeavoured  to 
impart  to  me.  But  this  was  not  the  manner  in  which  so  many 
new  ideas  could  be  arranged  in  my  mind.  I  overwhelmed  him 
with  questions  ;  he  adjourned  the  answers  :  I  started  innumera- 
ble difficulties  ;  he  promised  to  remove  them  at  a  subsequent 
period.  We  differed  essentially  on  a  fundamental  point.  I 
maintained  that  philosophy  was  not  a  separate  science,  but  that 
it  was  entirely  included  in  religion  and  poetry.  N —  on  the 
contrary  insisted  that  philosophy  was  the  basis  of  those  two 
sciences.  1  firmly  maintained  the  negative  ;  and  in  the  course 
of  our  researches  I  found  arguments  in  support  of  my  opinion 
at  every  step.  In  fact,  there  is  in  poetry  a  kind  of  faith  in  im- 
possibility ;  and  in  religion,  a  faith  of  the  same  nature  in  what 
cannot  be  established  on  any  reasonable  foundation.  It  there- 
fore appeared  to  me  that  philosophers  would  find  it  a  very  diffi- 
cult task,  were  they  to  undertake  to  prove  and  elucidate  these 
two  kinds  of  faith  by  means  of  their  usual  methods  of  reasoning. 
Of  this  we  speedily  found  confirmation  in  the  history  of  philo- 
sophy, which  showed  us  each  philosopher  seeking  a  new  foun- 
dation for  science,  and  the  skeptic  at  last  concluding  that  there 
exists  none. 

It  was  necessary  to  set  me  to  study  this  history  of  philosophy. 
My  friend  was  constrained  to  adopt  this  step  by  my  constant  re- 
jection of  dogmatical  instruction.  1  took  a  lively  interest  in 
this  study.  But  it  was  because  each  opinion,  each  doctrine,  as 
far  as  1  was  able  to  discover  its  meaning,  appeared  to  me  as  good 
as  the  others.  1  was  delighted  at  recognising  in  the  most  an- 
cient philosophers  the  indissoluble  alliance  of  poetry,  religion, 
and  philosophy,  forming  only  one  indivisible  whole.  This  only 
increased  the  force  of  my  attachment  to  my  own  opinion.  I 
could  in  fact  appeal  to  the  songs  of  Orpheus  and  Hesiod,  as  well 
as  to  the  book  of  Job,  and  the  Psalms  and  Proverbs  of  Solomon. 
My  friend  had  taken  up  an  abridgment  of  Brucker's*  book  for 
the  text  of  his  lessons.  But  the  further  we  advanced  the  less 
real  progress  did  1  make.  I  could  not  form  a  clear  idea  of  the 
systems  of  the  first  Greek  philosophers.  I  saw  in  Socrates  a 
sage,  an  excellent  man,  whose  life  and  death  appeared  to  me 
comparable  in  some  degree  to  those  of  Christ.  The  disciples 
of  the  former  seemed  to  bear  the  most  striking  resemblance  to 
the  apostles,  both  taking  a  rigid  morality  for  their  rule.  Neither 
the  subtilty  of  Aristotle  nor  the  copious  eloquence  of  Plato 
made  a  profound  impression  on  my  mind.    1  had  previously  had 

f  Rrucker's  work  is  a  History  of  Philosophy,  in  6  vols.  8vo.  in  Latin. — En 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


some  inclination  to  the  philosophy  of  the  Stoics.  1  therefore 
commenced  Epictetus  with  pleasure,  and  found  his  doctrine  very 
attractive.  In  vain  did  my  friend  disapprove  of  my  predilec- 
tion for  this  system  ;  he  could  never  wean  me  from  it. 

As  soon  as  the  weather  would  permit,  we  resumed  the  plea- 
sure of  walking  out.  My  friend  preferred  the  very  agreeable 
places  of  rendezvous  with  which  the  city  is  surrounded  ;  but 
these  were  precisely  the  spots  1  was  least  willing  to  frequent. 
I  saw  on  every  side  the  phantoms  of  the  two  cousins.  I  always 
dreaded  meeting  them.  The  gaze  of  the  most  total  strangers 
was  painful  to  me.  I  could  no  longer  taste  that  pleasure  which, 
like  that  of  health,  is  only  perceived  when  lost — the  pleasure  of 
mixing  indiscriminately  in  the  crowd  at  one's  ease,  and  without 
fear  of  being  remarked.  I  now  began  to  feel  the  encroachments 
of  a  hypochondriac  mania.  I  fancied  myself  the  object  of  public 
attention.  I  imagined  every  moment  that  observing  eyes  and 
severe  looks  were  fixed  on  me. 

I  therefore  drew  my  friend  into  the  woods  ;  I  fled  from  straight 
and  formal  walks.  I  sought  the  beautiful  groves  in  the  vicinity 
of  Frankfort.  Their  extent  is  not  very  great,  but  yet  they  were 
sufficient  to  afford  an  asylum  to  a  poor  wounded  heart,  f  had 
selected  in  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood  a  situation  of  majestic 
gravity.  Oaks  and  ashes  of  venerable  age  afforded  a  fine  shade 
to  the  vast  and  verdant  area  beneath  their  branches.  The  slope 
of  the  ground  disclosed  to  the  eye  a  perfect  perception  of  the 
stately  forms  of  these  old  trunks.  At  the  back  of  this  circular 
space  were  thick  bushes,  overhung  by  some  grand  masses  of  rock 
covered  with  moss,  whence  rushed  a  cascade,  which,  falling  to 
the  ground,  formed  a  wide  and  limpid  rivulet. 

When  I  brought  my  friend  to  this  retreat,  he,  who  regretted 
the  populous  walks  of  the  fields  on  the  banks  of  the  Maine, 
laughed  at  my  taste,  which  he  said  was  worthy  of  a  true  German. 
He  then  explained  to  me,  upon  the  authority  of  Tacitus,  how 
our  ancestors  lived  content  with  the  emotions  which  nature 
lavishes  on  us  in  those  solitudes  where  she  appears  so  rich  in 
edifices,  which  never  required  the  aid  of  art.  Oh  !  I  cried,  in- 
terrupting him,— oh!  that  this  superb  palace  of  verdure  were 
plunged  in  the  depths  of  a  wild  desert  !  Oh  !  that  we  could 
pitch  our  tent  in  it,  and  separated  from  the  world,  spend  our 
lives  in  holy  contemplation  Î  Can  the  Divinity  be  honoured 
more  purely  than  in  these  rural  temples,  where  no  image  is  re- 
quisite ?  Is  not  the  homage  we  offer  him  from  the  bottom  of 
our  hearts,  when  recently  purified  by  converse  with  nature,  the 
most  worthy  his  acceptance  ?  My  feelings  at  that  moment  are 
still  fresh  in  my  memory  ;  but  1  cannot  now  recollect  the  expres- 
sions I  made  use  of.  The  sentiments  of  youth,  free  and  power- 
ful as  those  of  uncivilized  men,  easily  rise  to  the  level  of  the 
sublime.  When  this  enthusiasm  is  excited  in  us  by  the  contem- 
plation of  grand  objects,  and  particularly  when  we  can  scarcely 

L 


S3 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE 


conceive  its  vague  and  ideal  forms,  we  spring  up  to  a  height  for 
which  we  do  not  seem  destined  by  nature. 

That  internal  voice  of  the  soul  which  transports  us  into  a 
sphere  above  our  own,  speaks  more  or  less  distinctly  to  all  men. 
All  seek  by  various  means  to  gratify  this  noble  thirst  for  exalta- 
tion ;  but  as  the  dimness  of  twilight  and  the  obscurity  of  night, 
wbich  seem  to  unite  and  confound  objects,  are  favourable  to  the 
sublime,  daylight,  on  the  contrary,  dispels  it  by  distinguishing 
and  separating  the  same  objects.  Every  idea  wbich  has  a  ten- 
dency to  become  insulated  and  fixed,  would  soon  annihilate  the 
sublime,  were  we  not  fortunately  enabled  to  take  refuge  in  the 
truly  beautiful,  and  unite  our  souls  with  it  in  so  intimate  a  man- 
ner that  the  result  is  an  immortal  and  indivisible  whole. 

My  prudent  friend,  not  content  with  the  shortness  of  the 
moments  passed  in  these  enjoyments,  abridged  them  still  farther. 
When  once  I  had  returned  into  the  world,  I  sought  in  vain, 
amidst  the  mean  and  common  objects  which  surrounded  me,  to 
re-produce  in  myself  this  sentiment  of  the  sublime.  Scarcely 
could  1  even  preserve  the  remembrance  of  it.  The  ferment  of 
my  mind  was,  however,  too  great  to  subside  on  a  sudden  into 
calmness.  1  had  loved,  and  the  object  of  my  love  was  torn  from 
me  ;  I  had  lived,  and  bitterness  was  infused  into  my  cup  of  life. 
When  a  friend  allows  us  to  perceive  too  clearly  his  intention  to 
guide  us,  he  rather  cools  than  excites  our  zeal.  A  woman  is  to 
us  a  celestial  being,  who  brings  us  happiness.  Not  only  do  our 
hearts  pay  homage  to  her,  they  fly  to  meet  her  instructions,  and 
she  governs  us  through  the  elevation  of  our  sentiments  which 
she  excites.  But  that  ravishing  face,  which  had  excited  in  me 
the  idea  of  perfect  beauty,  had  fled  for  ever. 

From  childhood  I  had  possessed  a  taste  for  painting.  Of  all 
my  organs  the  eye  was  that  with  which  I  could  best  seize  what 
was  remarkable  in  the  world.  I  observed  objects  with  extreme 
attention;  but  I  was  impressed  only  by  the  general  effect  of  the 
wrhole.  If  nature  had  not  granted  me  the  talent  of  descriptive 
poetry,  neither  had  she  been  more  bounteous  towards  me  with 
respect  to  the  faculties  which  distinguish  the  painter  skilled  in 
the  representation  of  single  objects,  and  in  seizing  the  details  of 
them.  Our  solitary  walks  revived  my  taste  for  this  art.  I  sud- 
denly resolved  to  endeavour  to  trace,  by  the  help  of  the  pencil, 
all  that  appeared  to  me  beautiful,  all  that  delighted  my  eyes  in 
uur  favourite  woods.  I  therefore  began  to  draw  from  nature.  I 
applied  myself  to  this  occupation  with  equal  perseverance,  in- 
aptitude, and  awkwardness.  It  enabled  me  to  get  rid  of  my  tu- 
tor; who  seeing  me  absorbed  in  my  eager  devotion  t©  this  study 
tor  whole  hours,  soon  accustomed  himself  to  walk  about  near 
me,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  being  certain  of  finding  me  again 
at  the  same  place.  My  drawing  had  also  still  more  powerful 
charms  for  me.  It  was  not  so  much  the  subjects  delineated  by 
mv  unskilful  pencil,  that  I  saw  in  these  productions,  as  the  gay 


MEMOIR'S  OF  tïÔETÎIE. 


imagery  that  floated  in  my  imagination  whilst  I  was  thus  employ- 
ed. I  attached  to  every  tree,  leaf,  and  plant,  the  remembrance 
of  one  of  my  short  moments  of  felicity.  Thus  my  portfolio  be- 
came my  most  valued  journal,  and  these  rude  sketches,  embel- 
lished by  my  recollections,  have  always  possessed  so  lively  an 
interest  in  my  sight,  that  J  have  never  been  able  to  determine  on 
sacrificing  them.  Even  now,  1  confess,  this  sacrifice  would  be 
beyond  my  strength. 

My  father  saw  with  pleasure  my  renewed  attention  to  an  art 
of  which  he  was  fond.  He  examined  my  work,  showed  me  its, 
defects,  and  pointed  out  the  means  of  correcting  them.  By  de- 
grees my  friends  became  convinced  that  I  had  no  thoughts  of  re- 
turning to  my  forbidden  connexions.  I  was  no  longer  watched  ^ 
and  was  restored  to  liberty.  In  company  with  other  youths  I 
made  several  excursions  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  in  the 
beautiful  country  watered  by  the  Maine.  But  I  did  not  improve 
in  landscape-painting  by  these  tours. 

I  constantly  returned  with  increased  pleasure  from  these  often 
repeated  excursions,  which  were  partly  undertaken  for  pleasure, 
and  partly  for  improvement  in  art.  My  sister  was  the  magner 
that  attracted  me  towards  home.  She  was  but  a  year  youngei. 
than  myself.  We  had  lived,  from  our  earliest  infancy,  in  the 
most  intimate  union,  which  the  internal  state  of  our  family  ten- 
ded to  strengthen.  My  father  had  set  up  a  principle  to  which  he 
always  adhered.  He  made  it  a  point  to  conceal  an  affectionate 
and  tender  heart  under  the  guise  of  an  inflexible  severity,  ne- 
cessary, according  to  him,  for  attaining  the  two  objects  which  he 
proposed  to  himself,  namely,  to  give  his  children  an  excellent 
education,  and  to  maintain  strict  order  in  his  family.  My 
mother  was  quite  a  child  when  he  married  her,  and  she  might 
be  said  to  have  been  brought  up  with  us.  She  had,  as  well  as 
my  sister  and  myself,  all  the  vivacity  and  avidity  of  youth  for 
the  enjoyments  of  the  moment.  Our  inclinations  always  tended 
to  the  pleasures  of  society.  Time  only  increased  this  contrast 
between  my  father  and  us.  He  pursued  his  own  plan  with  un- 
shaken perseverance,  whilst  my  mother  and  her  children  were 
equally  attached  to  their  own  sentiments  and  wishes,. 

Our  hours  of  retirement  and  labour  were  long,  and  we  had 
but  a  very  short  time  to  devote  to  recreation  and  pleasure,  espe- 
cially my  sister,  who  never  could  remain  so  long  absent  from 
home  as  1  could.  Thus  the  pleasure  of  our  conversations  was 
heightened  by  the  regret  she  felt  at  being  unable  to  accompany 
me  in  my  excursions. 

fn  our  earliest  years,  our  studies,  diversions,  mental  and  bodily 
developement,  had  all  been  common  to  both.  We  might  have 
been  taken  for  twins.  Time  only  cemented  our  intimacy,  by 
strengthening  our  mutual  confidence.  The  vivid  interest  of 
youth,  the  surprise  caused  by  the  awakening  of  sensibility  and 
*he  wants  of  the  soul,  which  mutually  lend  iheir  language  to  each 


-MEMOIRS  OF  CJOKTHL. 


other,  the  observations  which  that  state  suggests,  and  which 
tend  rather  to  prolong  than  to  enlighten  its  obscurity  (like  the 
mist  of  the  valley,  which  veils  it  in  rising,  instead  of  allowing 
the  light  to  enter,)  the  illusions,  the  errors  which  arise  from  this 
situation — all  these  vague  and  novel  impressions  strike  a  brother 
and  sister  of  the  same  age  at  the  same  time,  and  yet  they  are 
unable  to  explain  to  each  other  the  singularity  of  what  they  ex- 
perience. For,  although  their  friendship,  and  the  ties  of  con- 
sanguinity by  which  they  are  connected  seem  to  afford  them  op- 
portunities for  such  communication,  a  holy  awe,  produced  by 
those  very  ties,  always  raises  an  insurmountable  barrier  between 
them,  and  retains  them  in  their  ignorance. 

It  is  with  regret  that  I  here  take  this  cursory  notice  of  a  being 
so  dear  and  so  soon  lost  to  me.  Her  extraordinary  merit  and 
our  tender  friendship  had  early  inspired  me  with  the  idea  of  con- 
secrating to  her  memory  a  monument  worthy  of  her  virtues. 
Bent  on  preserving  her  beloved  image  in  all  its  moral  beauty, 
I  had  conceived  the  idea  of  a  work  of  imagination,  in  which 
she  would  have  figured  as  the  principal  personage.  But  I  must 
have  borrowed  the  pencil  of  Richardson,  and  the  dramatic  form 
of  his  romances  for  this  purpose.  Nothing  but  the  greatest  ex- 
actness in  the  details,  and  an  infinity  of  shades  and  salient  pe- 
culiarities, can  endow  a  character  with  motion  and  life,  and  pre- 
sent it  as  a  whole.  It  is  in  the  stupendous  depth  of  the  reces- 
ses of  the  human  heart  that  the  moral  portrait  of  an  individual 
is  to  be  sought.  The  source  can  only  be  well  conceived  by  ob- 
servation of  the  waters  that  flow  from  it.  But  the  tumult  of  the 
world  has  diverted  me  from  this  pious  design,  as  it  has  from  so 
many  others  ;  and  all  that  1  can  now  dois  to  attempt,  as  it  were, 
by  the  aid  of  a  magical  mirror,  to  call  up  for  a  moment  this  bless- 
ed shade. 

My  sister  was  tall.  Her  figure  was  slender  and  elegant  ;  her 
deportment  noble  ;  and  her  air  of  native  cheerfulness  enlivened 
features  of  an  agreeable  delicate  complexion,  although  neither 
very  regular  nor  very  expressive  :  they  did  not  indicate  great 
firmness  of  mind.  Her  eyes,  although  not  the  very  finest  1  ever 
saw,  were  particularly  expressive  ;  and,  when  animated  by  any 
tender  expression,  brightened  into  extraordinary  splendour.  Yet 
this  expression  was  not  that  of  the  sensibility  which  emanates 
from  the  heart,  and  seems  to  solicit  a  return  ;  it  sprang  from  the 
soul,  and  manifested  that  generous  sentiment  which  gives  and  de- 
mands nolhing.  On  the  whole,  however,  her  countenance 
eould  not  be  called  attractive.  She  was  sensible  of  this  at  an 
early  period  ;  and  this  idea  gradually  became  more  painful  to 
her  as  she  approached  that  age  at  which  the  youth  of  each  sex 
find  an  innocent  pleasure  in  rendering  themselves  agreeable  to 
the  other. 

In  general  we  are  all  satisfied  with  our  faces,  whether  hand- 
some or  not  ;  but  my  sister  had  too  much  good  sense  to  be  blind 


ïtfEMOIBS  OF  GOETHE. 


33 


to  her  deficiency  in  this  respect.  It  is  not  improbable  that,  on 
comparing  herself  with  her  companions,  she  even  exaggerated 
her  own  want  of  beauty,  without  consoling  herself  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  superiority  in  the  qualities  of  the  soul  and  the 
understanding.  In  fact,  if  it  be  possible  for  a  female  to  possess 
any  compensation  for  the  want  of  personal  attractions,  my  sis- 
ter was  amply  indemnified  by  the  unbounded  confidence,  esteem, 
and  attachment  of  her  female  friends,  of  every  age.  She  was 
the  centre  of  a  very  agreeable  circle,  into  which  several  youths 
had  introduced  themselves  :  still  she  had  no  friend  of  the  other  sex, 
although  few  young  ladies  are  without  one.*  There  is  a  kind  of 
dignity  in  the  character  and  manners  which  estranges  rather  than 
attracts.  She  was  deeply  sensible  of  this  ;  she  imparted  to  me 
the  grief  it  occasioned  her,  and  became  the  more  fondly  attach- 
ed to  me.  We  stood  in  a  singular  situation.  A  confidant  of  the 
other  sex,  to  whom  a  love  affair  is  intrusted,  takes  at  first  a  warm 
interest  in  it  :  but  this  interest  sometimes  changes  into  rival- 
ship,  the  confidant  endeavouring  to  appropriate  to  himself,  or 
herself,  the  sentiments  thus  avowed.  It  was  nearly  thus  with 
my  sister  and  me;  for  when  my  connexion  with  Margaret  was 
broken  off,  my  sister  seemed  the  more  eager  to  console  me,  from 
a  secret  satisfaction  which  she  felt  in  no  longer  having  a  rival  in 
my  heart  :  and  it  was  also  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  hear  her  assure 
me  with  earnestness,  that  I  was  the  only  youth  who  really  appre- 
ciated, loved,  and  honoured  her.  But  when  the  sorrow  which 
the  loss  of  Margaret  from  time  to  time  occasioned  me,  drew  tears 
from  my  eyes,  my  despondency  excited  an  angry  impatience  in 
my  sister's  mind.  She  would  then  exclaim  against  the  illusions 
of  love  and  youth.  We  both  found  ourselves  extremely  un- 
happy ;  and  our  misfortune  seemed  to  us  the  less  supportable, 
as  it  could  not  be  alleviated  by  the  hope  of  seeing  our  mutual 
confidence  ripen  into  love. 

Fortunately,  that  eccentric  god,  who  often  does  so  much  un- 
necessary mischief,  was  on  this  occasion  kind  enough  to  come  to 
our  assistance.  I  was  intimate  with  a  young  English  student, 
who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  principles  of  his  language.  I 
took  lessons  from  him.  He  acquainted  me  with  many  interesting 
particulars  relating  to  his  country.  He  had  long  visited  at  our 
house  before  I  observed  his  inclination  for  my  sister.  This  in- 
clination had,  however,  been  formed  in  silence,  and  become  a 
passion  which  was  at  length  suddenly  declared.  My  sister  en- 
tertained a  regard  for  him  of  which  he  was  worthy.  She  had 
often  made  a  third  in  our  English  conversations.  Our  young 
preceptor  had  familiarized  us  both  with  the  beauties  of  his  lan- 
guage.   We  had  so  perfectly  accustomed  ourselves  to  his  tone 

*  This  is  true  of  Germany  and  Switzerland,  where  young  ladies  enjoy  the 
greatest  freedom,  and  form  their  society  themselves,  admitting  such  young 
men  as  they  think  fit  ;  nor  do  their  morals  seem  to  be  the  worse  for  this  libertv, 

—En. 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE» 


and  pronunciation,  and  his  peculiar  style  of  expression,  that  wheu 
we  were  all  talking  together  our  discourse  might  have  been 
thought  to  emanate  from  a  single  voice.  His  endeavours  to 
learn  German  of  us  were  less  successful.  Accordingly  it  ap- 
peared to  me  that  this  little  love  affair  was  managed  in  English. 

The  tvvo  lovers  were  admirably  suited  to  each  other.  The 
young  foreigner's  figure,  elegant  as  that  of  Cornelia,  was  still 
more  slender.  But  for  the  marks  of  the  sma)l-pox,  his  face 
would  have  been  very  handsome  :  his  countenance  indicated  the 
calmness  and  firmness  of  his  mind  ;  and.  indeed  its  expression 
might  often  have  been  mistaken  for  apathy  and  coldness.  But 
he  had  an  excellent  heart  and  a  noble  soul  :  his  affections  were 
frank,  decided,  and  constant.  This  serious  couple  bore  no  re- 
semblance to  those  lovers  whose  improvident  levity  so  readily 
contracts  those  inconsiderate  connexions,  which,  producing  no 
permanent  effect  on  the  rest  of  their  lives,  too  frequently  afford 
but  an  imperfect  image  of  the  more  serious  union  of  which  they 
ought  to  be  the  prognostics. 

Thus  united  in  a  society  of  young  persons  of  both  sexes,  we 
often  passed  our  hours  very  agreeably  ;  parties  of  pleasure, 
sometimes  on  the  water,  afforded  us  much  amusement.  Some 
of  us,  including  myself,  indulged  our  inclination  for  rhyming. 
Heroic-comic  poetry,  in  the  style  of  Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock, 
and  the  Robber  of  Zacharic,  his  imitator,  amused  us  for  some 
time. 

1  continued  my  studies  with  zeal.  I  conceived  an  absolute 
passion  for  the  history  of  ancient  literature.  The  perusal  of 
Gessner's  lsagoge,  and  Morhof's  Polyhistor,  threw  me  into  a  kind 
of  encyclopedical  mania  ;  but,  after  studying  day  and  night  with 
constant  activity.  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  labyrinth,  in 
which  I  met  with  more  fatigue  and  difficulties  than  instruction. 
I  soon  afterward  lost  my  way  in  a  still  more  perplexing  maze, 
by  plunging  into  the  reading  of  Bayle,  whose  work  1  had  disco- 
vered in  my  father's  library. 

I  became  daily  more  sensible  of  the  importance  of  the  dead 
languages,  and  more  satisfied  that  the  ancients  had  transmitted 
to  us  all  the  models  of  the  art  of  speaking  and  writing,  as  well 
as  of  all  that  ever  the  world  produced  of  truly  grand  and  beau- 
tiful. I  had  laid  aside  the  study  of  Hebrew,  of  the  Bible,  and 
the  Greek  language,  in  which  1  had  not  proceeded  beyond  the 
New  Testament  ;  and  I  now  applied  the  more  assiduousiy  to  the 
Latin  language,  the  masterpieces  of  which  afford  us  an  easier 
access,  illustrated  as  they  are  by  the  erudition  acquired  during  so 
many  ages,  and  by  the  labours  of  translators  and  learned  men. 
I  read  many  works  in  that  language  with  great  facility  :  I  ima- 
gined that  1  understood  my  authors,  because  I  never  deviated 
from  the  literal  sense.  What  was  my  vexation  on  learning,  when 
I  afterward  read  Grotius,  that  he  discovered  in  Terence  beauties 
and  an  interest  which  escaped  my  schoolboy  inexperience.  Blest 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


«7 


confidence  of  youth,  and  even  of  maturity,  which  always  ima- 
gines it  understands  things  thoroughly,  because  it  measures  every 
thing  by  its  own  faculties,  without  considering  the  truth,  the  ele- 
vation, or  the  depth  of  objects  ! 

I  had  learnt  Latin  in  the  same  manner  as  German,  Italian, 
French,  and  English — solely  by  use,  and  without  confining  my- 
self to  the  observation  of  rules  and  principles.  The  study  of 
languages  appeared  to  me  one  of  the  easiest  things  in  the  world. 
By  the  aid  of  the  ear,  guided  by  the  sense,  1  retained  the  words, 
their  formation,  meaning,  and  derivatives  :  and  I  could  make  use 
of  a  language  thus  acquired,  for  the  purposes  of  speaking  and 
writing,  with  facility. 

Michaelmas  was  approaching,  the  period  fixed  for  my  going 
to  the  university.  My  industry  was  excited  by  an  ardent  desire 
to  learn.  At  the  same  time  I  felt  an  increased  aversion  to  my 
native  town.  The  removal  of  Margaret  had  annihilated  all  the 
joys  of  my  youth.  I  employed  my  time  in  study,  endeavouring 
to  repair  my  loss  by  making  myself  a  new  being,  I  had  left  off 
my  excursions  in  the  town,  confining  myself  for  the  future  to 
merely  passing  along  the  streets  like  other  people.  I  had  not 
set  my  foot  in  the  quarter  in  which  my  beloved  formerly  lived, 
nor  in  the  country  in  its  vicinity.  The  old  walls  and  antique 
towers  of  Frankfort,  and  the  very  constitution  of  that  city,  with 
all  that  I  had  formerly  thought  so  interesting,  now  afforded  me 
none  but  disagreeable  images.  As  the  grandson  of  the  pretor,  I 
was  not  ignorant  of  the  secret  defects  of  this  republic.  Children 
cease  to  find  pleasure  in  their  researches,  the  moment  they  begin 
to  doubt  the  excellence  of  what  they  venerated.  The  vexations 
caused  to  worthy  and  virtuous  men,  by  the  excesses  or  the  cor- 
ruption of  party  spirit,  were  odious  to  me.  The  morality  of 
childhood  is  rigid.  My  father,  reduced  to  a  private  station, 
loudly  expressed  his  dissatisfaction  at  the  misconduct  of  our 
magistrates.  Did  I  not,  moreover,  see  him,  after  all  his  studies, 
labour,  and  travels — with  all  his  diversified  knowledge — confined 
in  solitude  ?  The  prospect  of  a  similar  separation  from  the 
world  was  by  no  means  agreeable  to  me.  All  these  reflections 
made  me  unhappy.  I  saw  no  means  of  escaping  them,  but  by 
deviating  from  the  plan  which  had  been  laid  down  for  me,  and 
adopting  one  more  suitable  to  my  inclinations.  To  abandon  the 
study  of  law,  and  devote  myself  to  that  of  languages,  of  anti- 
quity, history,  and  the  belles  lettres  in  general,  was  my  favourite 
scheme. 

I  thought  myself  accountable  to  nature,  my  fellow-creatures, 
and  myself,  for  the  use  of  my  poetical  powers.  I  delighted  in 
cultivating  them.  Guided  by  instinct,  and  fearless  of  criticism, 
I  exercised  myself  in  this  art  with  still  increasing  facility.  With- 
out having  an  implicit  faith  in  the  excellence  of  my  productions, 
without  concealing  their  defects  from  myself,  I  nevertheless 
thought  them  not  quite  contemptible.    Whilst  I  myself  censured 


»8 


MEM01KS  OF  GOETHE- 


some  of  these  compositions  with  severity,  T  cherished  in  silence 
the  hope  of  reaching  still  higher  degrees  of  perfection.  I  de- 
lighted to  think  I  might  one  day  be  honourably  quoted  with 
Hagedorn,  Gellert,  and  their  competitors.  But  this  prospect 
seemed  to  me  too  vague  and  distant  to  be  made  the  sole  object 
of  my  efforts.  1  was  desirous  of  acquiring,  by  persevering  ap- 
plication to  the  rules  which  I  regarded  as  fundamental,  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  antiquity,  thus  to  facilitate  and  ensure  the 
perfection  of  my  works,  and  render  myeslf  capable  of  academical 
teaching  :  this  was  the  most  worthy  aim,  as  I  thought,  which  a 
young  man,  anxious  to  form  himself,  and  to  contribute  to  the 
accomplishment  of  others,  could  propose  to  himself.  With  this 
view  I  had  always  turned  my  eyes  towards  Gottingen.  My  whole 
confidence  waited  on  such  men  as  Heyne,  Michaelis,  and  their 
worthy  colleagues.  My  most  ardent  wish  was  to  sit  at  the  foot 
of  their  chairs,  and  to  be  reckoned  in  the  number  of  their  dis- 
ciples. But  my  father  was  inflexible.  In  vain  did  several 
friends  of  the  family,  who  shared  my  predilection,  endeavour  to 
move  Mr.  Goëthe  :  I  was  obliged  to  make  up  my  mind  to  go 
to  Leipsic.  I  then  conceived  the  design  of  looking  on  the  study 
of  law  only  as  a  task  imposed  upon  me,  and  of  following  my  own 
plan,  without  regard  to  my  father's  will.  His  obstinacy  in  op- 
posing my  plans  without  knowing  them,  only  confirmed  me  in 
these  intentions,  not  very  reconcileable  with  filial  piety.  Nor 
did  I  scruple  to  listen  whole  hours  to  him  with  ideas  directly 
opposite  to  those  which  he  entertained,  whilst  he  was  planning 
the  course  of  my  studies  and  life  at  the  university. 

Thus  forced  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of  Gottingen,  I  began  to 
look  towards  Leipsic.  There  were  also  luminous  stars  in  that 
quarter  :  Ernesti  and  Morus.  These  celebrated  professors  had 
good  claims  to  my  confidence.  It  was  at  Leipsic,  then,  that  I  was 
to  follow  the  plan  I  had  laid  down  for  myself.  To  open  a  path 
for  myself  appeared  to  me  a  scheme  as  honourable  as  to  others 
it  might  have  seemed  romantic.  I  had  before  my  eyes  the  pro- 
gress of  Griesbach,  whose  name  was  already  celebrated,  and  who 
had  pursued  the  track  upon  which  I  was  now  about  to  enter. 
The  joy  of  a  prisoner  whose  irons  are  taken  off,  and  who  is 
passing  the  threshold  of  his  dungeon,  cannot  be  more  lively  than 
mine  became  as  the  month  of  October  drew  nigh.  Neither  the 
unfavourable  weather,  the  bad  roads,  nor  the  idea  of  finding  my- 
self in  a  strange  town  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  gave  me  any 
uneasiness.  I  was  tired  of  my  present  situation,  and  the  unknown 
world  seemed  to  promise  me  nothing  but  gratification  and  sere- 
nity. 

Careful  as  I  was  to  conceal  my  plans,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
imparting  them  to  my  sister.  She  was  at  first  alarmed  at  them  ; 
but  1  reconciled  her  by  promising  to  send  for  her,  and  to  share 
with  her  the  happiness  which  I  expected  to  attain. 

The  wished  for  Michaelmas  at  length  arrived,  and  I  set  out. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


89 


full  of  joy,  with  the  bookseller  Fleischer  and  his  wife,  leaving 
behind  me  with  indifference  the  respectable  town  in  which  I  was 
born  and  brought  up,  and  leaving  it  as  if  I  never  expected  to  see 
it  again. 

Thus,  at  certain  periods  of  life  do  children  separate  from  pa- 
rents, servants  from  masters,  and  friends  from  friends  ;  and 
whatever  may  be  the  success  of  their  efforts  to  make  their  own 
way  in  the  world,  become  independent,  and  live  a  life  of  their 
own  ;  they  are  in  the  course  of  nature.' 

I  reached  Leipsic  at  the  time  of  the  fair.  At  the  sight  of 
goods  and  merchants  that  were  known  to  me,  I  thought  myself 
still  in  my  native  town.  I  visited  the  shops  and  the  market. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Eastern  countries,  the  Poles,  the  Rus- 
sians, and  particularly  the  Greeks,  whose  fine  countenances  and 
elegantly  nobie  dresses  I  took  pleasure  in  contemplating,  attract- 
ed my  attention  by  the  singularity  and  variety  of  their  costumes. 

This  grand  bustle  was  soon  over  ;  1  had  no  longer  any  spec- 
tacle but  that  of  the  city  itself  with  its  elegant  houses,  all  of 
equal  height.  There  is  something  at  once  agreeable  and  impo- 
sing in  this  view. 

But  it  was  not  that  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  from  in- 
fancy. There  is  nothing  about  Leipsic  to  call  up  remembrances 
of  ancient  times.  Its  monuments  distinguish  a  new  epoch  of 
commercial  industry  and  opulence.  Nevertheless,  I  was  pleased 
with  its  buildings,  which  appear  immense,  each  of  them  facing 
into  two  different  streets,  and  these  streets  like  so  many  burghs 
or  small  towns.  I  took  up  my  residence  between  the  old  mar- 
ket and  the  new.  I  obtained  two  pretty  rooms,  which  Fleischer 
the  bookseller  had  occupied  during  the  fair,  at  a  reasonable  rent. 
1  had  a  fellow-lodger,  who  was  a  theologian,  profoundly  learned 
in  his  science,  possessed  of  great  abilities,  but  poor,  and  afflicted 
with  very  bad  eyes,  which  rendered  him  extremely  uneasy  with 
respect  to  the  future.  He  had  Brought  this  disorder  upon  him- 
self by  reading  too  long  in  the  twilight  and  even  by  moonlight- 
in  order  to  save  a  little  oil.  Our  old  hostess  was  very  kind  to 
him,  very  civil  to  me,  and  very  attentive  to  both. 

Furnished  with  my  letters  of  recommendation,  I  hastened  to 
wait  on  Counsellor  Boëhme,  professor  of  history  and  public  law. 
He  presented  me  to  his  wife,  a  well-informed,  clever  woman,  of 
an  amiable  disposition,  ar>d  very  delicate  health.  I  communi- 
cated my  plan  of  studies  to  Mr.  Boëhme  ;  but  he,  in  his  capaci- 
ty of  a  professor  learned  in  history  and  jurisprudence,  enter- 
tained a  declared  hatred  of  all  that  come  under  the  denomina- 
tion of  liberal  studies  :  he  did  not  relish  my  plans.  Above 
all,  he  could  not  endure  Gellert,  my  sincere  esteem  for  whom  I 
had  very  injudiciously  disclosed  to  him.  It  did  not  appear  very 
likely  that  he  would  deprive  himself  of  a  pupil  in  order  to  send 
him  one.    After  a  long  sermon,  Mr.  Boëhme  gave  me  to  under- 

M 


90 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


stand  that  he  could  not  authorize  my  plan  of  study  without  tht 
consent  of  my  parents.  He  declaimed  with  warmth  against 
philology,  the  study  of  languages,  and  particularly  against  poetry, 
my  taste  for  which  I  had  suffered  him  to  perceive.  He  insisted 
Oiat  the  hest  way  to  study  antiquity  was  through  the  medium  of 
jurisprudence.  He  cited  the  examples  of  a  number  of  elegant 
jurisconsults,  as  Eberhard,  Otto,  and  Heineccius,  and  promised 
to  open  the  treasures  of  Roman  antiquities,  and  the  history  of 
ihe  civil  law  to  my  researches.  Madam  Boëhme,  whom  I  after- 
ward saw  alone,  urged  her  husband's  plan  with  great  kindness 
and  suavity.  They  allowed  me  time  for  reflection.  J  saw  the 
numerous  difficulties  attending  the  execution  of  my  scheme, 
which  I  had  thought  so  easy  :  1  therefore  gave  up  the  point  ;  re- 
solving, however,  to  attend  Gellert's  course  of  literary  history, 
and  to  take  private  lessons  of  him. 

The  love  and  veneration  of  all  the  students  for  this  excellent 
man  were  truly  extraordinary.  I  had  already  paid  him  a  visit, 
and  he  had  received  me  kindly.  His  features  were  small  and 
delicate,  without  being  thin  ;  a  sweet  and  melancholy  expres- 
sion ;  a  very  fine  forehead,  an  aquiline  well-formed  nose,  a  fine 
mouth,  and  well-proportioned  oval  face,  contributed  to  render 
him  personally  agreeable.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  gain  access 
to  him.  His  two  servants  might  have  been  compared  to  priests 
appointed  to  guard  some  sanctuary,  the  approach  to  which  was 
neither  open  to  every  body,  nor  at  all  times.  This  precaution 
was  far  from  useless  ;  for  if  Gellert  had  always  been  visible  to 
all  who  wished  to  see  him  and  speak  to  him,  he  must  have  sacri- 
ficed all  his  time  to  them. 

I  at  first  attended  my  courses  punctually  ;  but  I  soon  saw  that 
the  philosophical  lectures  taught  me  nothing  new.  I  thought  it 
singular  that  logic  compelled  me  to  decompose,  recompose,  and 
then  decompose  again  those  operations  of  the  mind,  which  I  had 
from  childhood  been  accustomed  to  execute  with  the  greatest  fa- 
cility. It  appeared  to  me  that  I  knew  almost  as  much  of  the 
nature  of  things,  the  universe,  and  God,  as  my  professor  him- 
self. 

Nor  was  the  course  of  jurisprudence  more  beneficial  to  me. 
\  already  knew  precisely  all  that  it  pleased  our  professor  to  teach 
us.  The  tediousness  of  recopying  all  that  my  studies  under  my 
father  had  engraven  on  my  mind  for  ever,  soon  checked  the  ac- 
tivity which  I  usually  displayed  in  transcribing  my  lessons. 

The  difference  of  age  among  the  professors  is  a  serious  evil  to 
students.  The  young  masters  teach  in  order  to  improve  them- 
selves. If  their  heads  are  well  organized,  they  drive  the  stu- 
•lent  forward  too  rapidly  ;  thus  accomplishing  themselves  at  the 
expense  of  their  scholars,  to  whom  they  communicate  not  what 
it  would  be  most  to  their  benefit  to  know,  but  what  best  suits  the 
jnstructer.  Under  the  old  professors,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
is  great  danger  of  making  no  progress  at  all.    They  cling  to  art 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


91 


tique  ideas,  and  drag  with  them  a  load  of  futilities  and  errors,  of 
which  time  has  already  disposed.  A  young  student  is  thus  ban- 
died about  between  these  two  extremes,  and  is  very  fortunate 
if  he  can  find  an  opportunity  of  improvement  by  hearing  the  les- 
sons of  middle-aged  professors,  sufficiently  learned  to  direct  him 
with  judgment,  and  sufficiently  enlightened  to  be  sensible  of  the 
necessity  of  further  improvement. 

Many  persons  of  both  sexes  were  to  be  found  at  Leipsic, 
equally  distinguished  for  learning  and  politeness,  and  anxious  to 
make  themselves  agreeable  in  society.  Company  of  this  de- 
scription could  not  but  produce  a  beneficial  effect  on  the  stu 
dents.  This  university  bears,  accordingly,  a  character  which  is 
not  to  be  found  in  any  other  in  Germany  :  for  as  no  general  sys- 
tem of  education  has  yet  become  predominant,  each  university 
is  strongly  attached  to  that  which  it  has  adopted  ;  and  its  dis- 
tinctive features  are  always  obtrusive.  Jena  and  Halle  are  re- 
markable for  excessive  ferocity.  Bodily  strength,  gymnastic  ex- 
ercises, a  savage  aptness  for  all  that  is  calculated  to  secure  oui 
own  preservation,  were  the  prevailing  distinctions  of  the  acade- 
mical manners.  The  students  professed  a  sovereign  contempt 
for  the  townsmen,  and  thought  themselves  privileged  to  indulge 
in  every  kind  of  liberty  and  licentiousness.  At  Leipsic,  on  the 
contrary,  every  student,  anxious  to  connect  himself  with  the  in- 
habitants who  were  distinguished  for  wealth  and  politeness,  was 
under  the  necessity  of  adopting  their  manners. 

A  system  of  politeness,  which  is  not  at  once  the  flower  and  the 
fruit  of  a  high  state  of  civilization,  has  always  some  constraint 
about  it,  and  is  invariably  clogged  with  some  ridiculous  forms,  to 
which  it  remains  too  scrupulously  faithful.  Hence  the  ferocious 
hunters  of  the  banks  of  the  Saale*  thought  themselves  very  su- 
perior to  the  tender  shepherds  of  the  banks  of  the  Pleisse.j 

Independently  of  their  connexions  with  the  Leipsic  merchants, 
the  students  belonging  to  rich  and  respectable  families  met  witli 
models  of  the  French  manners  in  the  protestant  colony.  The 
independence  which  the  professors  derived  from  their  personal 
fortunes,  or  their  salaries,  and  which  raised  them  above  all  mean 
compliances  ;  the  attachment  of  the  Saxon  pupils  to  the  local 
customs  ;  the  vicinity  of  Dresden,  the  attention  of  which  city 
was  fixed  upon  us  ;  the  solid  piety  of  the  superintendent,  whose 
high  jurisdiction  extended  over  the  university  ;  all  contributed 
to  maintain  a  spirit  favourable  to  religion  and  morals. 

I  made  my  appearance  in  elegant  society  under  several  dis- 
advantages ;  in  the  first  place,  that  of  my  absolete  dress,  for 
which  I  was  indebted  to  the  economical  habits  of  my  father,  who, 
being  an  utter  foe  to  idleness,  occupied  the  leisure  hours  of  oui 
servants  in  making  our  clothes  ;  and  these  good  folks  were  any 


*  The  river  on  which  Halle  is  situated 
+  T,fip«ir.  i=  on  the  Plni^r- 


.MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


thing  but  fashionable  tailors  :  in  the  next,  my  provincial  dialect, 
full  of  proverbial  and  other  strange  expressions,  which  was  ridi- 
culous in  Saxony.  The  kind  attention  with  which  1  was  ho- 
noured by  Madame  Bochme,  and  her  good  advice,  aided  me  in 
reforming  the  defects  of  my  costume  and  language.  I  was  no 
less  obliged  to  her,  as  well  as  to  several  of  my  professors,  in  the 
article  of  poetical  taste.  I  was  a  sincere  admirer  of  works  which 
were  then  in  vogue.  I  wished  to  read  some  of  them  to  her.  I 
even  hazarded  several  of  my  own  compositions  under  an  anony- 
mous veil.  I  was  at  first  listened  to  with  indulgence.  But  my 
auditors  soon  ceased  to  spare  the  objects  of  my  admiration.  My 
poetical  works  were  no  better  treated.  I  was  quite  confounded 
at  seeing  all  that  had  appeared  to  me  so  fine,  mangled  by  the 
dissecting -knife  of  criticism. 

I  had  no  better  success  with  Gellert.  He  was  eternally 
preaching  against  poetry.  In  his  private  lessons  he  constantly 
endeavoured  to  dissuade  us  from  it.  He  wished  all  compositions 
to  be  in  prose.  Verse  appeared  to  him  a  very  dull  addition. 
But  what  was  worse,  my  prose  itself  seldom  met  with  his  appro- 
bation. Faithful  to  my  old  style,  i  always  gave  my  subject  the 
form  of  an  epistolary  romance.  1  rose  in  these  compositions  to 
a  passionate  tone,  and  the  stvle  was  elevated  above  common 
prose.  Although  the  ideas  certainly  indicated  no  great  know- 
ledge of  mankind,  still  my  productions  were  no  worse  than  those 
of  others.  But  I  met  with  very  little  indulgence  from  Gellert. 
He  examined  them  carefully,  corrected  them  with  red  ink,  and 
wrote  a  few  moral  reflections  here  and  there  in  the  margin.  I 
long  preserved  these  sheets,  with  corrections  and  notes  in  his 
handwriting,  but  they  have  at  last  disappeared  from  among  my 
papers. 

To  accomplish  the  true  end  of  teaching,  it  seems  to  me  that, 
when  persons  whose  experience  has  been  formed  by  age,  are 
censuring  the  object  of  a  young  pupil's  admiration,  they  should 
at  the  same  moment  set  before  him  a  model  truly  worthy  of  his 
admiration.  Now  every  one  declared  against  my  inclinations 
and  taste.  But  what  they  wished  to  substitute  was  either  so  re- 
mote from  my  ideas  that  I  could  not  appreciate  its  merit,  or 
seemed  to  me  so  hackneyed  that  I  could  not  possibly  regard  it 
as  of  any  value.  All  these  obstacles  perplexed  me.  1  expected 
to  find  a  valuable  guide  in  Ernesti  :  1  attended  his  course  on 
Cicero's  book,  De  Oratore.  The  lessons  of  this  celebrated  phi- 
lologist were  useful  to  me,  but  did  not  afford  me  the  light  of 
which  I  was  in  search.  What  I  wanted  was  sound  and  certain 
principles  of  criticism  to  direct  my  judgment.  At  length  I  con- 
ceived that  this  much  wished  for  criterion  was  pretty  much  like 
the  philosopher's  stone,  which  all  the  world  seeks,  and  nobody 
finds.  Neither  professors  nor  judges  agreed  among  themselves 
even  with  respect  to  the  choice  of  models  for  imitation.  Wic- 
land.  that  charming  writer.  whose  works  were  our  delight,  was 


TIE  MO  1RS  OP  GOETHE' 


then  harassed  by  merciless  and  innumerable  criticisms.  How 
could  we,  then,  possibly  believe  in  any  infallible  rules  ? 

Amidst  all  these  peculiarities  I  took  my  place  at  the  table  of 
the  counsellor  Ludwig.  He  was  a  physician  and  a  botanist.  All 
his  boarders,  with  the  exception  of  the  professor  Morus,  were 
students  in  physic.  The  conversation  turned  only  on  thai 
science,  and  on  natural  history.  1  found  myself  suddenly  trans- 
ported into  a  new  sphere.  The  names  of  Haller,  Linnaeus,  and 
Buffon,  were  always  pronounced  with  the  expression  of  profound 
veneration  ;  and  even  when  a  discussion  arose  respecting  the 
errors  attributed  to  those  great  men,  the  conclusion  was  always 
a  homage  to  the  superiority  of  their  genius.  The  interesting 
subjects  that  were  discussed  excited  my  attention.  1  learned  by 
degrees  a  great  number  of  definitions  ;  1  became  familiar  with 
the  vocabulary  of  the  sciences  that  engaged  our  attention,  plung- 
ing eagerly  into  this  study  to  preserve  myself  from  the  tempta- 
tion to  write  verses.  I  also  avoided  reading  poetry,  that  i  migh(; 
not  have  to  blush  for  my  admiration  ;  for  I  no  longer  knew  what 
I  was  to  approve  or  what  to  censure  ;  and  this  state  of  uncer- 
tainty in  matters  of  taste  and  judgment  at  length  rendered  mc 
very  unhappy.  1  had  brought  to  Leipsic  such  of  my  compo- 
sitions as  1  considered  the  best,  i  was  in  hopes  they  would  do 
me  honour,  and  assist  me  in  judging  of  the  progress  I  made,  by 
comparing  my  present  works  with  my  former  writings.  It  was 
with  inexpressible  vexation  that  1  found  it  necessary  to  become 
a  new  man,  to  give  up  my  taste  and  literary  opinions,  and  to 
condemn  what  1  had  approved!  At  length  I  began  a  severe  ex- 
amination of  my  works.  After  a  long  and  painful  struggle  with 
my  self-love,  I  cast  a  disdainful  eye  on  all  these  works,  whether 
finished  or  only  commenced.  1  made  up  a  bundle  of  them, 
poetry,  prose,  plans,  sketches,  and  schemes  ;  I  threw  them  all 
into  the  kitchen  fire,  and  the  smoke  of  my  productions,  filling 
the  whole  house,  terrified  our  good  hostess.  Such  was  all  the 
effect  of  the  first  efforts  of  my  genius. 


94 


MEMOIRS  OB'  GOETHE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

so  much  has  been  written  respecting  the  state  of  German 
literature  at  the  period  I  have  now  reached,  that  those  who  in- 
terest themselves  in  this  subject  cannot  surely  stand  in  need  of 
any  new  information.  It  may,  however,  afford  a  few  observa- 
tions not  wholly  devoid  of  interest  ;  and  those  which  I  shall 
venture  to  offer  will  be  made,  not  so  much  to  complete  the  his- 
tory of  this  literary  period,  as  to  give  an  idea  of  the  impressions 
which  1  experienced.  Let  us  in  the  first  place  draw  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public  to  the  two  natural  enemies  of  all  liberty,  and 
of  all  free  and  animated  poetry,  proceeding  from  a  spontaneous 
impulse,  that  is  to  say,  Satire  and  Criticism. 

In  time  of  peace  every  one  is  at  liberty  to  follow  the  mode  of 
life  which  he  prefers.  The  merchant  exercises  his  industry  as 
he  pleases,  the  shopkeeper  minds  his  business,  the  author  com- 
poses and  publishes  his  works  at  his  own  pleasure.  If  he  is  not 
excited  by  the  hope  of  gain,  he  is  animated  by  the  prospect  of 
fame  ;  and  the  hope  of  being  useful  also  acts  as  a  stimulus  to 
him.  But  satire  and  criticism  suddenly  break  in  to  disturb  the 
repose  and  security,  the  first  of  the  citizen,  and  the  second  of 
the  author.  Anxieties,  vexations,  and  quarrels,  now  succeed 
the  peace  which  previously  reigned  in  society. 

This  sort  of  hostility,  carried  on  by  the  spirit  of  contradic- 
tion, distinguished  the  literary  aspect  of  the  period  in  which  I 
was  born.  Germany  had  long  been  stifled,  as  it  were,  under 
the  pressure  of  foreign  influence,  and  subdued  to  the  employ- 
ment of  foreign  languages  in  the  labours  of  her  philosophers  and 
diplomatists  ;  she  therefore  seemed  condemned  to  hopeless  im- 
potence, and  excluded  from  all  hope  of  bringing  her  vernacular 
idiom  to  perfection.  A  multitude  of  new  ideas  seemed  to  de- 
mand the  importation  of  the  exotic  words  which  served  to  ex- 
press them,  and  this  habit  of  borrowing  was  carried  to  an  unne- 
cessary extent. 

The  Germans  having  been  retained  for  almost  two  centuries, 
by  a  series  of  unfortunate  events,  in  a  semi-barbarous  state, 
sought  lessons  of  politeness  rn  France,  and  the  art  of  expressing 
themselves  with  propriety  and  dignity  in  the  writers  of  ancient 
Rome.  But  the  use  of  foreign  modes  of  expression,  corrupted 
by  the  effort  to  introduce  them  into  the  mother  tongue,  only  ex- 
posed the  German  style  to  ridicule.  The  abuse  of  metaphors, 
figures  familiar  to  the  southern  nations,  was  carried  to  excess. 
There  were  scholars  in  the  little  German  towns,  who  adopted  in 
their  correspondence  a  tone  of  dignity  suitable  only  to  thosf 


;«IEMOIBS  OF  GOETHE. 


95 


Roman  citizens  who  looked  upon  themselves  as  the  equals  of 
princes.    It  was  absolutely  a  literary  carnival. 

The  dawn  of  an  indigenous  literature  had,  however,  begun  to 
appear.  People  endeavoured  to  write  German  in  a  pure  and 
natural  style,  without  any  mixture  of  foreign  terms,  and  in  an  in- 
telligible manner.  These  laudable  efforts  unfortunately  opened 
the  door  to  dull  mediocrity.  After  the  breaking  down  of  the 
dike  the  torrent  overflowed.  The  four  faculties  remained  ob- 
stinately and  immoveably  stuck  in  the  quagmire  of  antiquated 
pedantry  ;  and  they  had  long  trials  to  undergo  previously  to 
falling  into  pedantry  of  a  new  kind. 

Liskow  and  Rabener  pursued  the  career  of  satire  with  success. 
Liskow,  who  was  carried  off  by  a  premature  death,  was  a  re- 
lentless enemy  to  bad  writers  ;  but  he  taught  us  nothing,  except 
that  ridicule  was  ridicule,  which  was  pretty  self-evident. 

Rabener,  who  was  equally  esteemed  and  beloved  for  his  per- 
sonal qualities,  applied  satire  to  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  hu- 
man species.  His  dart  is  without  venom  or  bitterness  ;  his 
censure  is  rather  witty  than  severe  :  nor  does  even  his  irony 
indicate  contempt.  His  talent  displays  the  serenity,  frankness, 
and  gentleness  of  his  character. 

If  we  look  at  the  progress  of  criticism,  and,  in  the  first  place, 
at  the  attempts  to  establish  a  theory  of  the  arts,  the  first  obser- 
vation which  presents  itself  is,  that  the  ideal  was  at  that  period 
to  be  found  only  in  religion  :  it  scarcely  appeared  in  any  thing 
in  the  least  degree  connected  with  morals.  No  one  suspected 
that  the  theory  of  the  arts  could  not  be  discovered,  without  as- 
cending to  general  principles  with  respect  to  each  of  them. 
Gottsched's  Poetics  were  put  into  our  hands  :  they  contained 
the  usual  instruction,  the  history  of  the  several  kinds  of  poetry, 
a  treatise  on  rhythm  and  prosody  ;  but  not  a  word  respecting 
poetical  genius.  At  last  came  the  chef-d'œuvre  of  Horace,  and 
we  remained  in  ecstasies  before  this  treasure  of  excellent  advice. 
But  we  remained  totally  unacquainted  with  the  talent  of  using 
it  to  advantage,  in  order  to  produce  a  complete  work. 

It  was  in  Switzerland  that  the  first  attempt  was  made  to  open 
a  track  to  the  nurselings  of  the  Muses.  Breitinger  had  published 
his  Poetics,  and  opened  a  more  extensive  field.  Unluckily  he 
made  nothing  but  a  labyrinth  of  it. 

All  efforts  to  find  fundamental  principles  for  poetry  had  been 
fruitless.  Its  essence,  too  spiritual  and  volatile,  always  seemed 
to  escape  the  grasp  of  theory.  Painting,  an  art  which  the  eye 
may  be  said  to  endow  with  a  character  of  fixity,  and  to  follow 
step  by  ste^),  appeared  more  pliant  and  docile.  In  France  and 
England  theories  on  the  Fine  Arts  had  already  been  published. 
Analogy  suggested  the  attribution  of  the  same  principles  to 
poetry.  If  the  painter  imitates  to  the  eyes,  it  was  said,  the  poei 
imitates  to  the  imagination.  He  paints  by  the  aid  of  description- 
and  comparisons  ;  he  represents  by  words  all  that  is  susceptible 


MEMOIRS  6P  GOETHE. 


of  being  represented  to  the  senses.  But  if  the  poet  is  also  a 
painter,  where  can  he  find  his  models  except  in  nature  ?  If 
painting  is  a  simple  imitation  of  nature,  why  should  not  poetry 
be  so  likewise  ?  Yet  nature  cannot  be  imitated  unreservedly. 
She  presents  many  insignificant  and  vulgar  objects.  It  is  there- 
fore necessary  to  select  ;  but  by  what  principle  is  the  choice  to 
be  determined  ?  If  it  be  necessary  to  search  for  that  which  is 
worthy  of  imitation,  by  what  token  are  we  to  recognise  it  ? 

The  Swiss  writers  had,  no  doubt,  long  meditated  on  the  solu- 
tion of  this  problem.  The  explanation  they  gave  is  striking,  on 
account  of  its  singularity,  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  ingenious. 

According  to  their  doctrine,  that  which  most  interests,  and  is 
most  striking,  is  that  which  is  new  ;  and,  to  sum  up  their  system, 
that  which  is  newest  is  the  marvellous.  All  the  precepts  of 
poetry  were  to  terminate,  therefore,  in  a  general  rule.  But  it 
was  observed  that  the  marvellous  might  often  be  deficient  in 
interest.  It  was  necessary  that  it  should  always  be  connected 
with  the  nature  of  man;  and  consequently  it  was  requisite  that 
it  should  have  a  moral  character.  In  fact,  what  could  be  the 
purpose  of  art,  except  improvement  ?  Utility,  as  the  necessary 
complement  of  all  other  kinds  of  merit,  was  therefore  the  essen- 
tial attribute  of  poetry,  the  rule  for  estimating  the  respective 
merits  of  the  various  kinds  of  poetical  composition.  To  whom 
was  the  pre-eminence  among  poets  to  be  assigned  ?  Undoubt- 
edly to  him  who,  in  imitating  nature  in  her  marvellous  features, 
best  fulfils  the  indispensable  condition  of  utility.  After  much 
dissertation,  they  at  length  persuaded  themselves  that  this  emi- 
nent rank  was  to  be  assigned  to  apologue. 

Singular  as  such  a  conclusion  may  now  appear  to  us,  this  idea 
nevertheless  took  a  powerful  hold  of  the  strongest  understand- 
ings. It  was  by  the  light  of  this  flambeau  that  Gellert  and 
Lichtwer  walked  ;  and  afterward  Lessing  himself  for  a  conside- 
rable time.  Many  men  of  talent,  taking  this  singular  beacon 
for  their  guide,  strengthened  the  confidence  of  those  who  be- 
lieved in  this  system.  Theory  and  practice  lent  mutual  support 
to  each  other.  Breitinger,  a  learned  and  able  writer,  of  great 
sagacity,  became,  however  eventually  sensible  of  the  emptiness 
of  his  own  method.  After  having  nearly  completed  his  career, 
he  returned  to  the  primitive  question.  He  asked  himself  whe- 
ther the  true  object  of  poetry  was  not  to  depict  manners,  charac- 
ters, and  passions  ;  in  a  word,  the  heart  of  man. 

It  is  easy  to  form  an  idea  of  the  confusion  produced  by  such 
whimsical  maxims,  by  rules  so  unintelligible,  and  precepts  so 
complicated.  Poetical  theory,  relying  on  precedents,  made  no 
farther  progress.  The  German  taste  and  ideas  seemed  to  raise 
a  wall  of  separation  between  us  and  other  nations,  or  the  an- 
cients, which  forbade  us  to  seek  our  models  abroad.  As  to  the 
national  writers,  the  best  of  them  distinguished  themselves  by 
striking  originality  :  but  their  successors  knew  not  how  to  ap- 


.MEATOIKS  OP  «OËTHE. 


97 


pYopnate  their  beauties  to  themselves,  and  were  fearful  of  imi- 
tating their  irregularities.  This  was  a  distressing  situation  for 
all  who  were  conscious  of  any  creative  talents. 

It  was  not,  in  fact,  talent  that  was  wanting  in  German  poetry, 
but  a  character,  and  particularly  a  national  character.  Among 
the  writers  who  at  that  period  gave  proofs  of  true  poetical  genius, 
I  will  mention  Gunther,  whose  wild  rudeness  ought  to  be  as- 
cribed to  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  to  his  mode  of  life,  and 
above  all,  to  the  defects  of  his  character. 

Whilst  I  thus  devoted  myself  to  the  study  of  our  new  litera- 
ture, an  unforeseen  circumstance  occurred,  which  diverted  my 
attention  from  more  extensive  research.  This  was  the  arrival 
at  Leipsic  of  my  countryman  John  George  Schlosser.  After 
having  successfully  concluded  his  course  of  academical  studies, 
he  had  at  first  pursued  the  ordinary  routine  at  Frankfort,  and 
turned  his  attention  to  the  bar  ;  but  that  profession  had  proved 
insufficient  to  satisfy  a  mind  eager  for  knowledge  and  informa- 
tion of  every  kind.  He  had  accepted,  without  hesitation,  the 
place  of  private  secretary  to  Duke  Louis  of  Wurtemberg,  who 
then  resided  at  Treptow.  This  prince  was  one  of  those  great 
men  who  are  desirous  of  true  and  personal  glory,  and  who  seek 
to  obtain  and  diffuse  information,  in  order  to  meliorate  the  lot 
of  their  fellow-creatures.  It  was  he  who  consulted  Jean  Jaques 
Rousseau,  on  the  education  of  children,  and  to  whom  Rousseau 
addressed  the  well-known  answer,  beginning  with  this  remark- 
able sentence,  "  If  I  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  a 
prince — ." 

Although  Schlosser  was  neither  the  duke's  intendant,  nor  go- 
vernor to  his  children,  he  was  very  useful  to  him  in  discharging 
the  duties  of  both  those  situations.  This  young  man  possessed 
a  noble  soul  ;  his  intentions  were  excellent,  and  his  morals  per- 
fectly pure.  A  kind  of  severity,  mingled  with  reserve,  would 
have  been  thought  repulsive  in  him,  if  his  extraordinary  literary 
erudition,  his  knowledge  of  languages,  and  the  facility  with 
which  he  wrote  both  verse  and  prose,  had  not  been  extremely 
attractive,  and  rendered  him  an  agreeable  acquaintance.  As 
soon  as  1  heard  he  was  at  Leipsic,  I  went  to  see  him.  I  had  a 
profound  esteem  for  his  talents.  Our  characters  were  dissimilar^ 
and  this  only  rendered  our  friendship  the  more  durable.  He 
studied  the  English  writers  attentively.  If  Pope  was  not  his 
model,  he  was  at  least  his  guide.  The  Essay  on  Man  had  sug- 
gested to  him  a  poem  intended  as  its  counterpart.  He  had  com- 
posed it  in  the  same  form  and  rhythm  ;  its  object  was  the  triumph 
of  Christianity  over  the  English  author's  deism.  He  showed 
me  many  essays  in  verse  and  prose,  written  in  various  languages. 
These  communications  excited  emulation  in  me.  I  set  to  work 
with  great  activity.  I  addressed  several  poems  to  him  in  Ger 
man,  French,  English,  and  Italian.  This  afforded  ample  matter 
for  our  conversations,  in  which  1  found  much  to  learn, 

N 


98 


MEMOIRS  OP  (iOETHLe 


Schlosser  wished  to  avail  himself  of  his  residence  at  Leipsic, 
in  order  to  get  acquainted  with  persons  of  celebrity.  I  intro- 
duced him  to  those  whom  I  knew.  We  also  visited  some  with 
whom  I  was  not  acquainted  at  that  time.  I  shall  never  forget 
our  introduction  atGottsched's  ;  it  was  characteristic  of  the  man. 
He  lived  in  a  handsome  first  floor  at  the  Golden  Bear;  old 
Breitkoft  had  given  him  these  apartments  for  life,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  benefits  arising  to  his  bookselling  business  from  the 
translations  and  other  works  of  his  guest. 

We  were  announced.  The  servant  told  us  his  master  would 
be  with  us  immediately, and  showed  us  into  aspacious  room.  Per- 
haps we  did  not  comprehend  a  sign  he  made  us.  We  thought  he 
was  directing  us  into  an  adjoining  chamber,  on  entering  which 
we  witnessed  a  whimsical  scene.  Gottsched  appeared  at  the 
same  instant,  at  an  opposite  door.  He  was  enormously  corpu- 
lent. He  wore  a  damask  robe  de  chambre  lined  with  red  tafFety* 
His  monstrous  bald  head  was  bare,  contrary  to  his  intention, 
for  his  servant  rushed  in  at  the  same  instant  by  a  side  door,  with 
a  long  wig  in  his  hand,  the  curls  of  which  descended  below  the 
shoulders.  He  presented  it  to  his  master  with  a  trembling  hand. 
Gottsched,  with  the  greatest  apparent  serenity,  took  the  wig  with 
his  left  hand,  with  which  he  dexterously  fitted  it  to  his  head, 
whilst  with  the  right  he  gave  the  poor  devil  a  most  vigorous  box 
on  the  ear,  which  sent  him  to  the  door  in  a  pirouette,  like  a  valet 
in  a  play  :  after  which  the  old  pedagogue,  turning  to  us  with  an 
air  of  dignity,  requested  us  to  be  seated,  and  conversed  with  us 
very  politely  for  a  considerable  time.  As  long  as  Schlosser  re- 
mained at  Leipsic,  I  passed  all  my  time  with  him  ;  and  at  the  ta- 
ble d'hote  he  frequented  I  got  acquainted  with  several  pleasant 
companions,  with  whom  I  continued  to  associate  after  his  depar- 
ture :  these  were  Mr.  Hermann,  the  son  of  a  preacher  to  the 
court  of  Dresden,  afterward  Burgomaster  at  Leipsic:  his  go- 
vernor, counsellor  Pfeil,  author  of  the  Count  de  P —  ;  the  com- 
panion to  Gellert's  Swedish  Countess  ;  Zachary,  brother  to  the 
poet,  and  Krebel,  author  of  a  Geographical  and  Genealogical 
Manual.  Another  attraction  which  drew  me  into  this  company, 
was,  that  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  daughter  of  the  people 
who  kept  the  house,  a  very  pretty  girl,  with  whom  1  had  often 
exchanged  tender  glances,  an  occupation  which,  since  my  un- 
fortunate passion  for  Margaret,  I  had  neither  found  nor  sought. 
I  passed  the  hours  of  our  repast  with  my  new  friends  in  agree- 
able and  useful  conversation. 

This  society,  conversation,  example,  and  my  own  reflections, 
satisfied  me  that  the  first  step  to  be  taken  in  order  to  get  rid 
of  a  barren  copiousness  and  laxity  of  style,  the  prevailing  de- 
fects at  that  period  of  our  literary  nullity,  was  to  aim  at  pre- 
cision,  brevity,  and  positiveness  in  our  ideas.  Until  then  there 
had  been  little  difference  between  the  best  style  and  ordinary 
language*   There  were,  however,  already  some  writers,  who 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


had  endeavoured  to  free  themselves  from  this  general  complaint, 
with  various  degrees  of  success.  Haller  and  Rammler  were 
naturally  fond  of  conciseness.  Lessing  and  Wieland  had 
adopted  the  same  taste  from  reflection.  The  former  had  gradu- 
ally assumed  an  epigrammatic  turn  in  his  poetry.  He  had  ap- 
peared concise  and  affecting  in  Minna,  and  laconic  in  Emilia  Ga- 
lotti  ;  at  a  later  period  he  returned  to  a  gay  and  pleasing  naïveté 
in  Nathan  the  Wise.  Wieland,  who,  in  Agatho,  Don  Sylvio, 
and  the  Comic  Narrations,  had  appeared  a  prolix  writer,  attained 
a  high  degree  of  precision  in  Musarion  and  Idris,  without  any  di- 
minution of  grace.  Klopstock,  in  the  first  cantos  of  the  Mes- 
siah, is  not  exempt  from  diffuseness.  In  his  odes  and  other  lit- 
tle poems,  as  well  as  in  his  tragedies,  he  is  concise.  By  con- 
tinually endeavouring  to  rival  the  ancients,  particularly  Tacitus, 
he  even  became  so  brief  and  dense  in  his  ideas  and  style,  as  to 
lose  all  the  fruits  of  his  labours  by  ceasing  to  be  intelligible. 
Gerstenberg,  a  great  but  eccentric  genius,  may  be  said  to  be 
concentrated  in  himself.  Although  his  merit  is  esteemed,  he  is 
not  read  with  much  pleasure.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Gleim, 
who  was  naturally  prolix,  succeeded  for  once  in  point  of  con- 
ciseness, in  his  military  songs.  Rammler  is  more  of  a  critic 
than  a  poet.  He  began  with  an  attempt  to  form  a  collection  of 
German  lyric  poems.  Scarcely  any  of  the  pieces  he  selected 
met  with  his  entire  approbation.  He  rejected,  corrected,  and 
re-wrote.  He  gave  new  features  to  every  poem.  He  thus  made 
himself  as  many  enemies  as  there  are  poets  and  amateurs  ;  for 
every  writer  now  found  his  defects  pointed  out.  As  to  the  public, 
it  prefers  an  original  poem,  with  all  its  faults,  to  a  poem  thus 
mended  according  to  the  general  rules  of  taste.  Rhythmic  poe- 
try was  then  in  its  infancy,  nor  had  any  one  discovered  the 
means  of  accelerating  its  progress  to  maturity.  Poetical  prose 
was  the  fashion.  Gessner  and  Klopstock  had  many  imitators. 
To  accommodate  those  who  wished  for  verse,  this  prose  was 
translated  into  a  rhythmical  shape.  But  these  attempts  were 
unsuccessful.  .  The  original  prose  .was  always  preferred. 

Of  all  our  writers,  Wieland  was  indisputably  the  one  to  whom 
nature  had  been  most  bountiful.  He  had  early  formed  his  mind 
in  that  ideal  region  in  which  youth  delights  to  wander.  But  when 
what  is  called  experience,  that  is  to  say,  the  events  of  life,  had 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  world,  and  with  women,  he  at- 
tached himself  to  realities.  He  delighted  in  representing  the 
struggle  between  these  two  different  worlds  ;  and  his  admirable 
muse,  sometimes  gay  and  sometimes  grave,  rendered  the  picture 
of  this  contest  attractive  and  charming.  Many  of  his  brilliant 
productions  appeared  during  the  period  of  my  academical  stu- 
dies. Musarion  made  a  strong  impression  on  me.  I  still  re- 
member the  spot  where  I  read  this  charming  work.  There  it 
was  that  for  the  first  time  1  thought  I  saw  the  antique  spirit  and 
forms  revived.    T  identified  myself  with  the  unhappy  Phanias 


LOO 


MEMOIRS  OP  liOKTHL. 


Timon.  I  partook  of  the  misanthropy  which  his  misfortunes 
led  him  into.  I  returned  with  him  into  the  society  of  mankind, 
when  he  finally  became  reconciled  to  his  daughter  and  the 
world. 

The  Germans  were  seeking  in  all  directions  for  the  light 
which  they  were  sensible  they  stood  in  need  of.  Scarcely  had 
any  national  subject  been  treated.  Schlegel's  Hermann,  (Ar- 
minius)  was  the  only  remarkable  work  of  that  kind.  There 
was  an  almost  universal  tendency  to  the  idyl.  Gessner's  po- 
ems, although  replete  with  grace  and  infantine  sensibility,  are 
devoid  of  originality.  They  want  a  physiognomy  ;  and  accord- 
ingly, every  one  fancied  he  could  do  the  like.  These  poems 
described  the  sentiments  common  to  all  men.  They  depicted 
foreign  manners,  those  of  the  Hebrew  shepherds,  and  particu- 
larly those  of  the  patriarchs.  The  poet  had  taken  his  colours 
from  the  Old  Testament.  Bodmer's  INoachide  was  a  stream 
from  that  spring  wjrich  long  inundated  the  German  Parnassus, 
A  crowd  of  ordinary  poets  were  at  the  same  time  engaged  in 
manufacturing  poems  which  they  called  Anacreontic.  Others, 
with  as  little  success,  amused  themselves  in  aping  the  precision 
of  Horace.  The  makers  of  heroi-comic  poems  in  the  manner 
of  Pope,  were  equally  unfortunate. 

It  is  here  that  1  must  notice  an  illusion,  the  extreme  absurdity 
of  which  did  not  prevent  its  mischievous  influence.  Gottsched's 
treatise  on  poetry  had  made  known  to  the  Germans  all  the  kinds 
of  poetry  by  which  other  nations  had  become  celebrated.  His 
advice  excited  the  genius  of  all  our  poets  to  compose  in  each 
of  these  styles.  It  was  thought  that  every  poem  constructed 
from  a  known  model,  must  necessarily  be  a  masterpiece.  Of 
course,  it  appeared  to  him  that  nothing  could  be  easier  than  to 
produce  them.  He  did  not  perceive  that  this  imitative  mania 
was  at  variance  with  the  very  nature  of  poetry.  The  new  sys- 
tem proceeded  with  great  activity.  The  collections  of  the  won- 
ders of  our  Parnassus  grew  every  year  more  extensive  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  each  succeeding  wonder  drove  its  predecessor 
from  the  shop  which  it  had  illumined.  The  docile  pupils  of 
Gottsched  confessed  that  we  did  not,  as  yet,  possess  a  Homer  ; 
but,  according  to  them,  we  had  at  least  one  Virgil,  and  one 
Milton.  We  were  still  looking  for  a  Pindar,  but  we  possessed 
one  Horace,  and  many  a  Theocritus.  The  poetical  mass  daily 
swelled  in  bulk,  with  accumulated  works  worthy  to  enter  into 
competition  with  the  classical  masterpieces  :  according  to  certain 
persons,  we  should  soon  have  to  take  the  productions  of  our 
country  as  the  objects  of  our  emulation.  It  will  be  inferred, 
that  if  we  were  in  the  true  path  of  taste,  we  walked  very  un- 
steadily in  it. 

At  the  same  time,  the  study  of  what  is  called  the  human  un- 
derstanding, engaged  much  attention.  The  school  philosophy 
was  falling  into  disuse.    That  philosophy  had  had  the  merit  of 


OP  GOETHL. 


-eitipioying  determined  forms,  and  fixed  rules  and  methods  in  the 
discussion  of  the  grand  questions  which  have  interested  mankind 
in  all  ages  ;  but  the  obscurity,  vagueness,  and  emptiness  of  its 
solutions,  unfortunately  too  obvious,  had  brought  them  into  dis- 
repute. Many  people  persuaded  themselves  that  nature  had 
furnished  them  with  sufficient  sense  to  enable  them  to  form  a 
clear  idea  of  the  various  objects  that  present  themselves  to  our 
notice,  without  laying  them  under  the  necessity  of  troubling 
themselves  about  general  ideas,  or  ascertaining  the  order  of  the 
universe.  They  thought  it  sufficient  to  cast  an  observing  eye 
around  them,  and  to  employ  their  attention  and  industry  on  ob- 
jects immediately  connected  with  and  interesting  to  them.  This 
direction  of  the  mind  authorized  every  one  to  philosophize.  No 
one  was  now  excluded  from  a  career  which  was  formerly  shut 
to  the  profane.  Any  man,  with  time  and  reflection,  might  pre- 
tend to  the  title  of  philosopher,  because  all  was  now  reduced  to 
a  more  or  less  sound,  or  exercised  understanding  ;  he  might  also 
ascend  by  degrees  to  general  ideas,  and  concern  himself  more 
or  less  successfully,  by  the  aid  of  experimental  intelligence,  in 
all  that  passes  within  and  without  us.  Men  now  prescribed  to 
themselves  the  rule  of  holding  the  balance  even  between  all 
opinions.  Strong  in  this  spirit  of  moderation,  and  with  a  mar- 
vellous sagacity  in  elucidating  common  ideas,  the  writers  and 
followers  of  this  new  school  attained  consideration  and  acquired 
confidence  ;  accordingly,  philosophy  introduced  itself  rapidly 
into  every  branch  of  science  and  literature,  and  into  all  ranks 
and  classes  of  society. 

In  pursuing  this  path,  theologians  themselves  could  not  long 
avoid  meeting  with  that  of  the  religion  called  natural.  It  ne- 
cessarily became  a  question,  whether  the  light  afforded  by  nature 
would  render  us  capable  of  perceiving  a  God,  and  of  improving 
and  ennobling  our  nature.  This  question  was  decided  in  the 
affirmative  without  much  hesitation.  Constantly  adhering  to 
the  moderate  principles  they  had  adopted,  the  new  philosophers 
acknowledged  all  positive  religions  as  equally  entitled  to  res- 
pect ;  that  is  to  say,  they  allowed  them  to  be  all  equally  good, 
but  denied  that  any  one  was  more  certain  than  the  rest.  They 
permitted  the  edifice  of  religion  to  remain.  They  acknowledged 
all  the  importance  and  merit  of  the  Bible  :  they  found  in  it  a 
store  of  observations,  reflections  on  our  origin,  nature,  senti- 
ments, and  duties,  more  pure  and  rich  than  in  any  other  book. 
To  this  book,  therefore,  in  preference  to  any  other  religious 
code,  was  allowed  the  privilege  of  serving  as  the  foundation  of 
our  belief. 

But  even  this  sacred  code  was  destined  to  share  the  fate  in 
which  the  lapse  of  time  involves  every  profane  work.  It  had 
hitherto  been  an  article  of  faith,  that  this  book  of  books  had  been 
conceived  with  a  peculiar  design,  inspired  and  dictated  by  the 
Holy  Spirit.    But  the  obvious  inequalities  of  its  various  parts 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE; 


had,  however,  long  been  the  subject  of  warm  controversies  be- 
tween the  orthodox  and  the  unbelievers. 

English,  French,  and  German  writers  had  all  attacked  or  de- 
fended the  Bible  with  more  or  less  warmth,  perspicacity,  hardi- 
hood, or  courage.  But  the  most  authoritative  men  and  best 
thinkers  in  each  of  these  countries  had  again  declared  themselves 
its  defenders.  To  me,  personally,  this  book  was  an  object  of 
love  and  respect  :  and  1  was  indebted  to  it,  almost  exclusively, 
for  my  moral  culture.  The  events,  precepts,  symbols,  and  alle- 
gories it  contained,  were  profoundly  engraven  on  my  mind.  I 
was  shocked  at  the  unjust  attacks,  and  the  ridicule  which  had 
been  directed  against  it. 

These  had,  nevertheless,  induced  part  of  the  faithful  to  accept 
cordially,  as  the  foundation  of  an  apology  for  many  biblical  pas- 
sages, the  idea  that  God  had  thought  proper  to  accommodate 
himself  to  the  understanding  and  opinions  of  men;  that  the 
prophets,  although  inspired  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  had  not  relin- 
quished their  personal  characters  ;  and  that  hence,  the  language, 
for  instance,  of  Amos,  the  driver  of  cattle,  was  of  course  very 
different  from  that  of  Isaiah,  a  man  of  princely  birth. 

From  all  these  ideas  naturally  arose  an  inclination  to  a  new 
species  of  study,  which  was  much  promoted  by  the  modern  pro- 
gress in  the  study  of  languages  ;  men  applied  themselves  to  a  pro- 
found study  of  the  localities,  the  characteristic  peculiarities,  the 
natural  productions,  and  other  phenomena  of  the  East,  endea- 
vouring by  these  means  to  render  themselves  familiar  with  the 
ancient  world.  Michaelis  devoted  to  these  researches  the  whole 
power  of  his  talents,  the  whole  extent  of  his  knowledge.  Des- 
criptions, taken  from  ancient  travellers,  became  powerful  auxili- 
aries in  the  interpretation  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  and  modern 
travellers,  setting  out  provided  with  numerous  questions,  were 
sure  to  testify  in  favour  of  the  prophets  and  apostles  by  the 
answers  they  furnished. 

Every  endeavour  was  used  to  present  the  sacred  books  to  us 
in  a  light  suitable  to  our  natural  faculties,  so  as  to  render  the 
sense  of  them  intelligible  to  the  ordinary  classes  of  mankind.  It 
was  hoped,  that  by  the  aid  of  these  historical  and  critical  inter- 
pretations, many  objections  would  be  removed  ;  that  every  thing 
which  seemed  revolting  at  the  first  glance  would  disappear  ;  and 
that  all  the  attacks  of  empty  raillery  would  thenceforth  be  futile. 
Some  writers  directed  their  views  to  an  opposite  point  :  select- 
ing the  books  most  abundant  in  obscurities  and  mysteries,  they 
attempted  by  means  of  calculations  and  conjectures,  and  ail 
the  combinations  suggested  by  their  profound  meditations,  if  not 
to  clear  up  the  difficulties,  at  least  to  strengthen  faith,  to 
prove  the  prophecies  by  the  series  of  subsequent  events,  and 
to  justify  the  belief  of  the  faithful  in  the  future  events  which  they 
announced. 

The  efforts  of  the  worthy  Bengel  to  explain  the  book  of  Saint 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOJÙTHL. 


103 


John,  were  partly  indebted  for  their  success  to  the  reputation 
this  venerated  professor  enjoyed  for  sound  sense,  uprightness, 
and  piety;  in  a  word,  he  was  an  irreproachable  character. 
Minds  of  vast  profundity  feel  a  longing  to  exist  at  the  same  time 
in  the  past  and  in  the  future.  The  ordinary  course  of  the  events 
of  this  world  would  seem  to  them  insignificant,  did  not  the  march 
of  time,  up  to  the  present  moment,  reveal  to  them  the  sense 
which  was  formerly  wrapped  in  the  ancient  prophecies  ;  and 
were  they  not  to  endeavour  to  raise  the  veil  of  the  most  distant, 
as  well  as  the  nearest  futurity,  which  still  conceals  the  predic- 
tions of  sages.  From  these  efforts  result  a  concatenation  of 
causes  and  effects  which  it  would  be  in  vain  to  seek  in  history  ; 
which  seems  only  to  show  us  a  succession  of  fortuitous  move- 
ments and  oscillations,  enclosed  in  a  circle  traced  by  necessity. 
Doctor  Crusius  was  one  of  those  who  attached  themselves  in 
preference  to  the  prophecies  contained  in  the  sacred  books,  be- 
cause they  exercise  at  the  same  time  the  two  most  opposite  facul- 
ties of  man,  sensibility  and  penetration.  A  multitude  of  young 
students  attended  his  lessons.  This  excited  the  more  attention, 
as  Ernesti  and  his  disciples  threatened  not  only  to  enlighten  the 
obscurity  so  dear  to  the  school  of  Crusius,  but  to  disperse  its 
darkness  entirely.  Hence  much  agitation,  animosity,  and  per- 
secution. 1  was  one  of  the  partisans  of  light.  I  endeavoured 
to  imbibe  the  principles  and  information  of  the  enlightened  sys- 
tem, although  j  was  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  this  method  of  in- 
terpretation, although  highly  laudable  as  conducive  to  the  pro- 
gress of  reason,  would  be  calculated  to  strip  the  sacred  books 
both  of  their  poetical  aspect  and  their  prophetic  character. 

Next  to  these  superior  men,  who  laboured  so  zealously  to  pro- 
mote the  national  literature  and  the  belles-lettres  in  general,  the 
efforts  of  the  Jerusalems,  Zollikoffers,  and  Spaldings  were  con- 
spicuous. Their  sermons,  their  dissertations  on  religion  and 
morality,  which  are  so  closely  united,  written  with  great  puritv 
of  style,  were  admired  by  all  persons  of  understanding  and 
taste.  The  want  of  an  agreeable  diction  began  to  be  felt.  The 
first  thing  requisite  was  to  be  intelligible.  Writers  arose  on 
every  side,  whose  studies  and  professions  had  accustomed  them 
to  make  themselves  understood,  to  be  clear  and  explicit,  and  to 
acquire  the  approbation  both  of  the  multitude  and  of  the 
learned. 

The  physicians,  stimulated  by  Tissot,  a  foreigner,  also  began 
to  contribute  with  zeal  to  the  cultivation  of  German  literature. 
Haller,  Unzer,  and  Zimmermann,  attained  great  influence  :  it 
may  be  said  of  them  all  three,  and  of  the  last  in  particular,  that 
they  were  very  useful  to  their  contemporaries.  History  and 
literary  biography  will  record  the  services  they  rendered  ;  for  a 
man  deserves  to  be  celebrated,  not  only  for  the  works  he  leaves 
behind  him,  but  for  his  activity,  and  the  activity  which  he  er- 
cites  in  others  by  the  enjoyment  he  procures  them. 


1W 


SEMOIRS  OP  GOETHL-. 


The  lawyers,  habituated  from  youth  to  an  abstract  style, 
which  had  perpetuated  itself  under  the  most  whimsical  forms 
in  the  affairs  of  which  they  treated,  from  the  times  of  chivalry 
to  the  diet  of  Ratisbon,  found  it  very  difficult  to  disengage  them- 
selves from  these  trammels.  It  was  not  easy  for  them  to  assume 
a  certain  freedom,  because  the  matters  which  occupied  them 
were  strictly  confined  in  the  bonds  of  the  received  style  and 
forms.  Nevertheless  young  Moser  had  distinguished  himself  by 
a  free  manner  of  writing,  peculiar  to  himself.  Patter,  by  the 
perspicuity  of  his  mode  of  teaching,  had  introduced  a  suitable 
degree  of  light  into  the  subjects  of  his  lessons,  and  the  style  ap- 
propriated to  those  subjects.  All  those  who  came  out  of  his 
school  were  remarkable  for  these  qualities  :  even  the  philoso- 
phers found  it  necessary  to  write  in  a  comprehensible  style,  if 
they  wished  to  become  popular.  Mendelssohn  and  Garve  ap- 
peared, and  obtained  universal  approbation  and  attention. 

The  progress  of  scientific  criticism  kept  up  with  that  of  the 
national  language  and  style.  Several  analyses  of  works  on  re- 
ligious, moral,  and  medical  subjects,  that  were  published  at  this 
period,  are  still  admired.  Criticism,  on  the  contrary,  when  ap- 
plied to  poetry  or  to  any  other  branch  of  the  belles-lettres,  was, 
if  not  absolutely  contemptible,  at  least  extremely  weak.  This 
may  be  said  with  equal  truth  of  the  Literary  Correspondence,  of 
the  General  German  Library,  and  of  the  Library  of  the  Belles- 
Lettres.*  It  would  be  easy  to  prove  these  assertions  by  ex- 
amples. 

It  was  to  Frederick  the  Great,  and  the  exploits  of  the  seven 
years'  war,  that  the  German  Muse  was  indebted  for  a  true  and 
elevated  expression,  and  an  original  and  living  character.  All  na- 
tional poetry  is  necessarily  colourless,  unless  it  is  attached  to  what  * 
most  strongly  interests  the  citizen,  to  the  events  which  concern 
a  nation,  and  to  the  great  men  who  direct  its  energies.  The 
poet  should  represent  kings  in  wars  and  dangers  :  in  these  they 
shine  in  the  first  rank,  deciding  and  sharing  the  fate  of  others. 
In  these  scenes  they  interest  us  more  than  the  gods  of  antiquity 
themselves  :  for  although  those  superior  beings  are  made  to  de- 
termine our  destinies,  they  are  not  partakers  in  our  risks.  It  is 
in  this  sense  that  every  nation  that  would  be  of  any  intrinsic 
value,  stands  in  need  of  epic  poetry  ;  the  success  of  which  does 
not  always  depend  upon  a  strict  observance  of  the  rules  and  forms 
prescribed  for  this  kind  of  composition. 

Gleim's  war  songs  have  attained  an  elevated  place  on  the  Ger- 
man Parnassus,  because  they  sprang  out  of  the  bosom  of  events  ; 
and  also,  from  their  favourable  form,  which,  showing  us  the  poet 
in  the  midst  of  the  combatants  at  the  moment  of  the  greatest 
danger,  produces  a  lively  impression  and  the  most  perfect, 
illusion. 


■  German  Journals  of  that  period 


MkMOIKS  OP  GÔKÏHE. 


105 


Rammler  also  sings  the  actions  of  his  king  in  a  tone  full 
of  dignity:  the  animated  colouring  of  his  poetry  delights,  and 
the  great  and  affecting  subjects  he  treats  interest  us.  Accord- 
ingly their  merits  will  long  survive  the  events  from  which  they 
arose.  The  principle  and  end  of  art  reside  in  the  essence  of 
ihe  object  on  which  it  is  exercised.  Who  can  deny  that  genius 
and  cultivated  talent  possess  the  faculty  of  vivifying  whatever 
they  touch,  and  conquering  the  most  rebellious  subject.  Bui 
how  happy  it  is  for  art,  when  the  subject  is  worthy  of  the  artist7? 
talents  ! 

The  Prussians,  and  all  Protestant  Germany  thus  found  a  trea-' 
sure  for  their  literature  of  which  the  opposite  party  was  desti- 
tute, and  the  want  of  which  no  efforts  have  hitherto  been  able 
to  supply.  The  high  opinion  which  the  Prussian  writers  had  of 
their  king,  the  zeal  which  animated  them  in  his  cause,  were 
only  increased  by  the  circumstance  that  this  king,  in  whose 
name  all  was  done,  actually  would  not  hear  of  this  literary  im- 
provement. Previously  to  his  time  the  French  colony  of  refu- 
gees had  introduced  into  Prussia  the  spirit  and  manners  of  their 
country,  which  afterward  continued  to  extend  their  influence 
through  his  predilection  for  the  civilization  and  financial  systems 
of  France  ;  and  these  circumstances  were  extremely  favourable 
to  the  developement  of  the  national  faculties  in  Germany,  which 
could  not  make  their  way  but  by  struggling  against  the  most  for- 
midable obstacles.  Thus  Frederick's  aversion  to  the  German 
language  was  favourable  to  the  progress  of  the  national  litera- 
ture. Every  thing  was  done  to  attract  the  king's  notice  ;  but 
nothing  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  his  applause,  or  even  his  ap- 
probation. What  was  performed  was  done  in  the  German 
fashion,  from  internal  conviction  :  it  was  done  because  it  was 
considered  right  to  do  it.  It  was  wished  that  the  king  should 
recognise  and  confirm  the  claims  of  his  nation  to  esteem.  But 
nothing  of  the  kind  happened  or  could  happen.  It  was  not  to 
be  expected  that  a  king,  who  was  anxious  to  live  in  the  enjoy  - 
ment of  refined  mental  pleasures,  should  lose  his  time  in  seeking 
gratification  in  a  language  and  literature  which  he  had  pro- 
nounced barbarous,  and  the  improvement  of  which  came  too 
iate  for  him. 

There  is  one  work  in  particular  of  which  I  must  here  take 
notice,  as  a  natural  product  of  the  seven  years'  war,  and  as  the 
most  faithful  expression  of  the  aspect  of  the  North  of  Germany 
at  this  period.  It  was  the  first  theatrical  composition  taken  from 
the  remarkable  events  of  life,  and  which  expressed  the  charac- 
teristic physiognomy  of  the  moment.  I  allude  to  Minna  of 
Barnhelm.  Unlike  Klopstock  and  Gleim,  Lessing  used  readily 
to  lay  aside  all  personal  dignity,  being  certain  of  his  power  to 
resume  it  at  pleasure.  He  delighted  in  the  dissipated  life  which 
prevails  in  taverns  and  other  social  haunts  ;  he  used  it  as  a  coun- 
.  i  noise  to  the  indefatigable  activity  of  his  mind.    He  had  been 


10b 


MEMOIRS  OF  OOEfHL- 


oae  of  those  who  surrounded  General  Tauenzien.  In  Hit 
piece  I  have  just  mentioned,  it  is  easy  to  recognise  the  conten- 
tion between  war  and  peace,  hate  and  love.  This  production 
was  useful  in  bringing  forward  the  art  beyond  the  literary  and 
civic  world  to  which  it  had  been  confined,  and  introducing  a 
more  elevated  and  brilliant  world  to  its  contemplations» 

The  conclusion  of  the  war  had  not  put  an  end  to  that  violent 
animosity  which  had  inflamed  the  Prussians  and  Saxons  against 
each  other  during  it  continuance.  The  people  of  Saxony  deeply 
resented  the  mortifications  they  had  suffered  from  the  pride  of 
the  Prussians.  The  peace,  effected  by  policy,  had  not  recon- 
ciled their  irritated  minds.  Lessing's  work  was  intended  to  con- 
tribute to  the  restoration  of  that  union  of  which  it  presented 
the  image.  The  grace  and  loveliness  of  a  Saxon  woman  triumphs, 
in  his  piece,  over  the  proud  and  vain  spirit  of  a  Prussian  ;  and 
the  art  of  the  poet,  faithful  to  its  object,  restores  the  principal 
as  well  as  the  inferior  characters  to  a  good  understanding,  and 
thus  harmonizes  discordant  elements. 

I  am  apprehensive  that  these  hasty  and  incoherent  remarks 
on  German  literature  may  have  fatigued  the  reader.  1  am,  how- 
ever, fortunate  if  I  have  succeeded  in  imparting  an  idea  of  the 
chaos  in  which  my  poor  brain  was  bewildered  in  the  midst  of  the 
contest  between  the  two  very  remarkable  periods  of  our  literary 
annals  ;  when  so  many  new  ideas  were  operating  upon  me,  and 
before  1  had  been  able  to  free  myself  completely  from  the  yoke 
of  antiquated  ideas,  whatever  reasons  I  might  see  for  throwing 
it  off.  1  will  endeavour  to  point  out  the  path  I  pursued  to  ex- 
tricate myself  from  this  perplexity. 

My  infancy  and  youth  had  coincided  with  the  period  of  our 
literary  licentiousness.  I  had  passed  that  interval  in  writing 
with  great  assiduity,  and  in  the  society  of  many  persons  of  me- 
rit. The  numerous  manuscripts  I  had  left  with  my  father  were 
sufficient  proofs  of  my  industry.  1  had  reduced  to  ashes  a  great 
mass  of  essays,  projects,  and  half-executed  plans,  rather  from 
discouragement  than  from  conviction  of  their  worthlessness. 
The  conversations  I  was  engaged  in,  the  lessons  I  heard,  the 
contests  of  various  opinions — but,  above  all,  the  advice  of  one 
of  our  society,  counsellor  Pfeil, — taught  me  to  set  a  higher  value 
on  two  things:  first,  the  importance  and  interest  of  the  subject  ; 
and  next,  the  conciseness  of  the  style.  I  was,  however,  still  ig- 
norant, both  where  to  find  these  subjects,  and  how  to  attain  this 
conciseness.  The  confined  circle  in  which  I  moved,  the  indif- 
ference of  my  companions  in  study,  the  insufficiency  of  my  mas- 
ters, the  want  of  intercourse  with  such  of  the  inhabitants  as  were 
distinguished  for  mental  cultivation,  the  perfect  insignificance  of 
the  nature  that  surrounded  me,  all  compelled  me  to  seek  my  re- 
sources in  myself.  If  I  wished  to  find  some  real  inspiration — 
some  profound  sentiment,  some  just  and  striking  reflections  for 
my  poetical  compositions.  I  saw  that  I  must  draw  them  from  m v 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


107 


own  bosom.  When  I  felt  it  necessary,  for  my  descriptions,  to 
have  the  objects  and  events  before  my  eyes,  I  avoided  overstep- 
ping the  circle  of  those  objects  which  were  capable  of  inspiring 
me  with  a  direct  interest.  It  was  in  this  manner  that  I  com- 
menced by  writing  a  few  little  poems  in  the  lyric  form.  They 
sprang  from  the  reflection  or  feelings  of  the  moment,  and  under 
my  pen  almost  always  assumed  the  epigrammatic  turn. 

Thus  I  took  the  direction  from  which,  throughout  life,  I  have 
never  deviated.  1  accustomed  myself  to  describe,  and  turn  into 
poetry,  whatever  deeply  interested  me  ;  whatever  had  caused  me 
a  strong  sensation  of  joy  or  grief.  I  acquired  a  habit  of  self-con- 
centration, either  to  rectify  my  ideas  respecting  external  objects, 
or  to  restore  my  mind  to  tranquillity.  To  no  one  could  this  fa- 
culty be  more  necessary  than  to  me,  whom  my  natural  disposi- 
tion drove  from  one  extreme  to  another.  All  that  I  have  made 
known  on  this  subject  forms  only  fragments  of  a  long  confession 
which  I  am  endeavouring  to  make  in  this  book. 

The  attachment  I  had  felt  for  Margaret  I  had  transferred  to  the 
daughter  of  our  host,  named  Annette.  1  have  nothing  to  say  of 
her,  but  that  she  was  young,  pretty,  lively,  and  affectionate.  Her 
disposition  was  so  sweet,  her  mind  so  pure,  that  she  deserved 
the  love  and  veneration  due  to  a  saint. 

1  saw  her  uninterruptedly  every  day.  Our  company  at  the 
'able  d'hote  was  confined  to  a  few  persons  known  to  the  master 
-of  the  house,  whose  wife  was  a  Frankfort  woman.  They  re- 
ceived very  few  people  except  during  the  fair.  Annette  and  I 
had  many  opportunities  of  conversing  together,  of  which  we 
took  advantage  with  mutual  pleasure.  As  she  was  not  permitted 
to  go  out,  her  diversions  and  amusements  were  very  few.  We 
used  to  sing  some  of  Zachary's  songs  together  :  we  played  Kru- 
ger's  Duke  Michael  ;  and  thus  our  time  glided  on.  But  the 
more  innocent  connexions  of  this  kind  are,  the  less  variety  of 
impressions  is  there  to  prolong  their  duration.  I  accordingly 
fell  into  that  evil  disposition  of  mind  which  often  misleads  us  so 
far  as  to  make  us  find  a  pleasure  in  tormenting  those  whom  we 
love  ;  and  I  abused  the  fondness  of  a  young  female  by  tyranni- 
cal and  arbitrary  caprices.  Secure  of  the  affection  of  Annette, 
and  of  her  anxiety  to  please  me,  I  vented  on  her  all  the  ill-hu- 
mour that  the  failure  of  my  poetical  essays,  the  apparent  impos- 
sibility of  doing  myself  honour  by  them,  and  every  thing  else 
that  occurred  to  vex  me,  excited.  I  poisoned  our  best  days  by 
groundless  and  unworthy  jealousies.  She  long  endured  all  these 
follies  with  angelic  patience  ;  but  I  had  the  cruelty  to  tire  it  out. 
To  my  shame  and  despair,  1  at  length  perceived  that  her  heart 
was  alienated  from  me  ;  and  that  I  had  now  real  cause  for  all  the 
extravagances  I  had  been  guilty  of  without  reason.  This  dis- 
covery gave  rise  to  terrible  scenes  between  us  ;  but  all  that  I 
gained  by  them  was  to  learn  for  the  first  time  how  much  I  loved, 
a&d  how  necessary  her  affection  was  to  me.    My  passion,  how- 


-MEMOIRS  OF  GOÏïTHE. 


ever,  increased,  assuming  all  the  forms  which  such  situations 
produce.  It  was  now  my  turn  to  act  the  pari  of  this  amiable 
girl  :  1  used  all  my  endeavours  to  regain  her  by  agreeable  di- 
versions. I  could  not  bear  to  relinquish  all  hopes  of  her  return 
to  me  ;  but  it  was  too  late.  Struck  with  remorse  for  my  con- 
duct towards  her,  I  avenged  her  by  torturing  myself  with  my 
own  follies.  The  furious  despair  by  which  I  thought  to  awaken 
her  compassion  overcame  my  physical  strength.  These  extra- 
vagances greatly  contributed  to  the  bodily  anguish  by  which  I 
lost  some  of  the  best  years  of  my  life  ;  and  perhaps  these  com- 
plaints would  speedily  have  terminated  my  existence,  had  not 
my  poetical  vein  come  to  my  assistance,  and  restored  my  enfee- 
bled health. 

Already,  during  several  intervals,  I  had  clearly  perceived  my 
folly.  When  restored  to  myself  I  deplored  my  injustice  to- 
wards Annette,  and  the  sufferings  I  had  caused  her.  So  often, 
and  in  so  lively  a  manner,  did  I  represent  to  myself  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  situation  and  my  own,  comparing  them  with 
the  peace  and  happiness  enjoyed  by  another  couple  in  our  so- 
ciety, that  at  length  1  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  make  this 
contrast  the  subject  of  a  drama,  for  the  instruction  of  lovers, 
and  in  expiation  of  my  folly.  This  was  my  origin  of  the  oldest 
of  those  of  my  dramatic  works  which  have  been  preserved  ;  the 
title  of  which  is  The  Caprices  of  a  Lover.  It  is  a  faithful  pic- 
ture of  the  affliction  caused  to  an  innocent  being  by  ardent  pas- 
sion. But  I  was  already  acquainted  with  the  miseries  of  social 
life  :  my  adventure  with  Margaret,  and  the  consequences  of  that 
connexion,  had  opened  my  eyes  to  the  strange  irregularities  that 
are  to  be  found  in  the  bosom  of  civil  society.  Religion,  mora- 
lity, the  laws,  the  influence  of  profession,  habitual  relations,  and 
custom — all  these  things  rule  its  surface  only.  In  a  town,  the 
streets  embellished  with  fine  houses  are  carefully  kept  clean  : 
every  one  behaves  in  them  with  tolerable  decency.  But  pene- 
trate into  the  interior,  and  you  will  often  find  in  them  a  disorder 
which  seems  the  more  disgusting  from  the  neatness  that  prevails 
without.  A  dazzling  stucco  on  the  outside,  scarcely  conceals 
walls  that  are  ready  to  fall  in  ruins.  At  length,  some  night,  down 
they  come,  with  a  crash  which  seems  the  more  terrible,  on  ac- 
eount,of  the  tranquil  repose  amidst  which  it  suddenly  happens. 
How  many  families,  more  or  less  connected  with  me,  have  I  al- 
ready seen  either  precipitated  into  the  abyss,  or  with  difficulty 
preserving  themselves  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  towards 
which  they  have  been  hurried  by  bankruptcies,divorces,rapes,rob- 
"beries,  and  murders  !  Young  as  1  was,  how  often  in  such  cases  has 
my  aid  been  resorted  to  !  for  my  open  manner  already  inspired 
confidence.  My  discretion  had  been  tried.  No  sacrifice  alarmed 
my  zeal,  and  I  was  capable  of  rendering  myself  useful  in  the 
most  perilous  circumstances.  I  had  often  had  opportunities  of  ap- 
peasing or  averting  a  storm, and  of  rendering  all  kinds  of  good  offi- 


31EM0IRS  OF  GOETHE. 


ces.  I  had  been  exercised  by  numerous  and  painful  trials,  caused 
by  events  which  interested  others  or  myself.  These  events  fur- 
nished me  with  subjects  and  plans  for  dramatic  compositions  :  I 
sketched  several  of  them  .  but  I  fou<;d  it  by  far  too  painful  a  task 
to  complete  them.  As  they  all  necessarily  terminated  in  a 
gloomy  and  tragical  manner.  1  abandoned  them  all  one  after 
another.  The  Accomplices  was  the  only  one  1  finished.  The 
gay  and  burlesque  colouring  which  mingles  with  family  scenes 
of  a  dark  hue,  enlivens  a  representation  which,  on  the  whole, 
leaves  a  sorrowful  impression.  Acts  of  violation  of  the  laws, 
represented  in  their  true  character  of  rude  violence,  annihilate 
the  sentiment  of  the  beautiful,  and  that  of  morality.  It  is  this 
which  generally  excludes  such  productions  from  the  theatre,  al- 
though they  have  sometimes  been  favourably  received  by  the 
public,  where  these  circumstances  have  been  softened. 

Yet  these  dramatic  pieces  were  composed  under  the  influence 
of  more  elevated  views,  although  f  did  not  analyze  those  motives 
whilst  engaged  in  their  production.  They  tend  to  produce  sen- 
timents of  tolerance  in  the  moral  account  which  men  are  des- 
tined to  render.  They  illustrate  in  a  forcible  manner  those 
truly  Christian  wrords,  "  Let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the 
iirst  stone." 

This  melancholy,  which  spread  so  gloomy  a  colouring  over 
my  early  productions,  might  rind  an  excuse  in  plausible  motives, 
decidedly  inherentinmy  disposition.  In  fact,  the  severe  and  ter- 
rible trials  I  had  passed  through,  seemed  to  have  developed  a 
daring  character  in  me.  Instead  of  being  fearful  of  dangers, 
I  delighted  in  braving  them.  The  principle  of  this  disposition 
of  the  mind  is  the  petulance  natural  to  youth,  the  playful  sallies 
of  which  excite  gayety. 

This  temerity  of  character,  presented  on  the  stage  judiciously 
and  skilfully,  produces  the  greatest  effect  :  it  is  distinguished  from 
intrigue  by  being  instantaneous,  and  having  for  its  object,  when 
it  has  any  object,  only  the  effect  of  the  moment  Beaumar- 
chais thoroughly  comprehend  this  source  of  interest,  which  is 
the  principal  cause  of  the  success  of  his  Figaro.  When  this 
audacity,  which  alwrays  has  a  pleasing  side,  is  employed  on  a 
noble  subject,  and  exercised  at  the  risk  of  lite,  the  situations  it 
produces,  elevated  by  sentiments  of  grandeur,  are  of  the  highest 
theatrical  interest.  This  is  proved  by  the  opera  of  The  Water- 
Carrier  ;  the  most  favourable  subject,  perhaps,  that  was  ever 
treated. 

A  short  time  had  sufficed  to  produce  a  remarkable  change  in 
my  daily  habits.  Madame  Boëhme  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a  long 
and  afflicting  illness.  Her  husband  was  not  w  ell  satisfied  with 
me  ;  he  considered  me  deficient  in  application  and  seriousness. 
He  found  that,  instead  of  listening  attentively  to  his  lectures  on 
the  public  law  of  Germany,  I  amused  myself  with  caricaturing 
the  personages  whom  he  had  occasion  to  quote — judges,  pre-  . 


no 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHK. 


«lents,  and  assessors  in  ridiculous  dresses,  in  the  margin  of  my 
note-book.  By  these  buffooneries  I  had  also  distracted  the  at- 
tention of  my  neighbours.  He  took  the  jest  very  ill.  Since 
the  loss  of  his  wife,  he  lived  more  secluded  than  ever.  At  length 
I  used  to  avoid  him,  in  order  to  escape  his  reproaches.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  that  Gellert  would  not  make  use  of  the  power 
he  might  have  exercised  over  us.  He  was,  indeed,  far  from 
having  time  to  play  the  part  of  confessor,  and  to  inquire  into 
every  one's  conduct  and  faults  ;  and  he  only  noticed  these  sub- 
jects when  he  addressed  us  in  a  body.  He  thought  to  influence 
us  by  acting  the  priest  When  we  were  assembled  before  him, 
he  would  ask  us,  inclining  his  head  and  speaking  in  a  whining 
but  agreeable  voice,  whether  we  went  regularly  to  church  ;  to 
whom  we  confessed  our  sins  ;  and  whether  we  had  been  parta- 
kers of  the  Sacrament.  When  the  result  of  this  examination 
was  not  favourable  to  us,  he  used  to  quit  us  after  much  lamen- 
tation. We  were  left  rather  dejected  than  encouraged  ;  but 
this  did  not  prevent  our  loving  this  excellent  man  with  all  our 
hearts. 

Religion,  as  consecrated  by  public  worship,  cannot  penetrate 
the  inmost  soul,  unless  all  the  parts  of  the  religious  system  are 
consistent,  lend  mutual  support  to  each  other,  and  form  a  perfect 
whole.  The  protestant  worship  possesses  none  of  those  advan- 
tages. The  void,  the  breaks,  and  the  want  of  harmony  that 
pervade  it,  are  too  sensible.  Hence  the  facility  with  which  its 
professors  separate  from  each  other.  The  progressive  diminu- 
tion of  the  number  of  those  who  frequented  the  church  and  the 
communion-table,  had  long  been  complained  of.  Let  us  exa- 
mine into  the  causes  of  this  growing  indifference. 

The  moral  and  religious  part  of  life  resembles  the  physical 
and  civil  part.  Man  does  not  act  voluntarily  and  impromptu. 
What  he  is  to  do,  he  must  be  brought  and  in  some  measure  con- 
strained to  do,  by  a  series  of  acts,  the  result  of  which  is  habit. 
What  he  is  wished  to  love  and  practise,  he  must  not  be  left  to 
think  on  alone  and  separately.  Sacraments  are  the  most  ex- 
alted mysteries  of  religion.  They  are  the  sensible  symbols  of 
a  favour,  an  extraordinary  grace  of  the  Divinity.  The  protes- 
tant worship  has  too  few  sacraments.  Strictly  speaking  it  has 
but  one  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  communion  :  for  baptism,  to  which 
the  party  receiving  it  is  always  a  stranger,  can  hardly  be  called 
one.  It  is  only  known  by  seeing  it  administered.  But  such  a 
sacrament  as  the  communion  cannot  exist  in  an  insulated  state. 
Where  is  the  Christian  capable  of  fully  enjoying  the  benefits  of 
the  Lord's  Supper,  if  its  symbolical  or  sacramental  meaning 
has  not  been  kept  up  in  his  mind  ? — if  he  is  not  accustomed  to 
regard  the  union  of  the  internal  religion  of  the  heart  with  the 
external  religion  of  the  church,  as  one  whole,  as  a  perfect  har- 
mony, a  sublime  and  universal  sacrament,  which  is  divided  into 
several  symbols,  to  each  of  which  it  communicates  its  sanctity  ? 


3ÎEM0IKS  OF  GOUTHL. 


Ill 


Has  not  protestantism  destroyed  this  harmony,  by  rejecting 
most  of  these  symbols  as  apocryphal,  and  admitting  only  a  very 
small  number  of  them?  Was  indifference  with  regard  to  one, 
likely  to  accustom  us  to  respect  the  high  dignity  of  the  rest. 

In  my  religious  education,  I  had  at  first  evinced  zeal  and  ap~ 
plication.  My  piety  was  sincere.  But  when  I  found  that  the 
worthy  man  who  instructed  us,  constantly  mumbled  over  his 
lessons  as  old  forms  to  which  his  heart  and  mind  were  utter 
strangers,  my  zeal  cooled,  and  for  the  first  time  1  approached  the 
sacred  table  with  lukewarmness.  1  afterward  recollected  the 
menaces  pronounced  against  unworthy  communicants.  I  was 
fearful,  like  many  others,  that  I  had  received  mv  own  condem- 
nation, instead  of  divine  grace,  Agitated  by  these  painful 
scruples,  I  no  sooner  arrived  at  Leipsic,  than,  in  order  to  free 
myself  from  them,  I  resolved  to  abstain  from  going  to  church. 

Gellert  had  drawn  up  a  course  of  morality  according  to  his 
pious  inspirations,  which,  from  time  to  time  he  read  in  public. 
His  writings  had  long  been  the  foundation  of  moral  culture  in 
Germany.  The  printing  of  this  new  work  was  anxiously  looked 
for  ;  and,  as  it  was  not  to  be  published  until  after  the  death  of 
the  worthy  professor,  it  was  considered  a  piece  of  good  fortune 
to  hear  him  read  it.  The  auditory  was  always  full.  The  purity 
of  his  sentiments,  the  benevolence  which  animated  his  noble 
soul,  his  exhortations,  his  advice,  and  his  somewhat  melancholy 
tone,  made  a  strong  impression  on  his  auditors.  But  this  im- 
pression was  far  from  lasting.  A  great  number  of  critics,  consi- 
dering his  manner  adapted  to  soften  and  enervate,  made  a  poin*; 
of  decrying  it.  I  remember  a  French  traveller,  who  wished  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  the  maxims  and  opinions  of  this 
professor,  whose  lessons  attracted  so  great  a  concourse.  When 
the\  had  been  explained  to  him,  "  Let  him  alone,"  said  he, 
shaking  his  head  and  laughing  :  "  he  is  forming  dupes  for  us." 

The  influence  of  personal  dignity  being  far  from  agreeable  to 
what  was  called  good  company,  those  who  came  under  that  de- 
nomination were  continually  endeavouring  to  weaken  Gellert's 
ascendency  over  us.  Sometimes  they  blamed  him  for  paying 
more  attention  to  the  instruction  of  the  wealthy  young  Danes 
that  were  especially  recommended  to  him,  than  to  that  of  the 
other  students.  His  marked  predilection  for  them  was  found 
fault  with.  Sometimes  he  was  accused  of  egotism  and  nepotism, 
for  having  sent  these  youths  to  board  with  his  brother.  The 
latter,  an  old  fencing  master,  often  treated  his  noble  guests  very 
rudely.  This  was  ascribed  to  Gellert's  excessive  indulgence 
towards  his  brother. 

The  elector  had  made  the  worthy  professor  a  present  of  a 
horse,  that  he  might  procure  himself,  by  the  exercise  of  riding, 
the  motion  necessary  to  his  health  j  and  Gellert's  enemies  could 
scarcely  forgive  his  Highness  this  mark  of  attention. 

Thus,  by  degrees,  did  every  species  of  authority  lose  its  weight 


1U 


MEMOIRS  OF  GeEi'HË. 


m  my  mind.  Even  my  admiration  for  him,  who  had  appeared 
to  me  the  greatest  of  men,  was  lessened,  and  almost  extin- 
guished. 

I  had  always  regarded  Frederick  II.  as  superior  to  the  most 
remarkable  men  of  the  age.  It  therefore  appeared  to  me  very 
extraordinary  to  find  the  inhabitants  of  Leipsic  as  little  disposed 
to  listen  to  his  praises  as  my  grandfather  and  his  family.  The 
iron  hand  of  war  had  indeed  oppressed  them.  They  could  not, 
therefore,  be  blamed  for  not  looking  with  a  favourable  eye  on 
him  who  had  so  long  made  them  feel  its  rigours.  But  whilst 
they  acknowledged  that  he  possessed  eminent  qualities,  they  dis- 
puted his  claim  to  the  title  of  a  great  man.  It  did  not  require, 
said  they,  extraordinary  abilities  to  succeed  with  extensive 
means.  An  object  may  easily  be  attained  when  neither  country, 
money,  nor  blood  are  spared.  According  to  them  Frederick  had 
not  proved  himself  great,  either  by  his  plans  or  by  the  object  he 
had  proposed  to  himself.  As  often  as  he  had  undertaken  the  di- 
rection of  operations,  he  had  committed  faults.  It  was  only 
when  under  the  necessity  of  finding  a  remedy  for  these  errors, 
that  he  had  shown  himself  an  extraordinary  man.  It  was  thus  that 
he  had  acquired  a  great  reputation,  owing  to  that  sentiment  na- 
tural to  all  men,  who,  being  subject  to  the  frequent  commission 
of  errors,  admire  him  most  who  is  most  skilful  in  repairing  them. 
In  examining  the  progress  of  the  seven  years'  war,  step  by  step, 
it  appeared  that  the  king  had  sacrificed  his  excellent  army  to  no 
purpose  ;  by  which  error  he  had  prolonged  that  disastrous  strug- 
gle. A  truly  great  man,  or  commander,  would  have  brought 
this  contest  with  the  enemy  to  a  much  earlier  termination. 
These  opinions  were  supported  by  an  infinite  number  of  parti- 
culars which  1  could  not  dispute.  Thus  was  gradually  under- 
mined the  unlimited  veneration  which  from  infancy  I  had  vowed 
to  this  illustrious  prince. 

Among  the  individuals  with  whom  I  was  acquainted  at  Leip- 
sic, one  of  those  who  have  left  the  most  distinct  traces  in  my  me- 
mory was  the  governor  of  the  youn^  Count  Lindenau.  His 
name  was  Behrisch.  He  might  be  classed  among  the  most 
singular  originals.  At  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning  he  was 
always  to  be  seen  with  his  hair  dressed  and  powdered,  a  sword 
by  his  side,  and  his  hat  under  his  arm.  He  might  have  passed 
for  a  Frenchman  of  the  old  school  ;  particularly  as  he  spoke  and 
wrote  French  with  great  facility.  He  was  perfectly  acquainted 
with  modern  languages  and  literature.  To  a  great  share  of 
learning,  and  astonishing  apathy,  he  added  a  decided  talent  and 
taste  for  buffooneries,  which  he  executed  practically  or  verbally 
with  the  greatest  seriousness.  He  excelled  as  a  mimic  ;  he 
would  imitate  passengers,  and  give  an  opinion  of  their  charac- 
ters from  their  air,  appearance,  gait,  and  deportment.  He  wrote 
a  very  fine  hand,  and  was  fond  of  copying  manuscripts  ;  which 
lie  did  with  extraordinarv  neatness,  adorning  them  with  pretty; 


MEMOIRS  OF  CiOETHD, 


US 


vignettes,  of  which  he  often  invented  the  subjects.  In  this  man- 
ner he  did  me  the  honour  to  copy  some  of  my  poetical  effusions. 
He  never  neglected  an  opportunity  of  expressing  a  comic  an- 
tipathy to  the  art  of  printing.  All  these  singularities,  however, 
did  not  prevent  his  performing  his  duty  towards  his  young  pupil 
with  scrupulous  care.  But  he  had  enemies.  Unfortunately 
for  him  he  went  sometimes,  and  had  introduced  me  and  some  of 
my  fellow-students,  to  a  house  which  was  the  residence  of  cer- 
tain ladies  whose  characters  were  worse  than  they  merited,  and 
with  whom  our  acquaintance  could  do  us  no  honour  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  public.  He  was  also  accused  of  having  partici- 
pated in  the  composition  of  some  satirical  verses  written  in  our 
little  society  against  a  piece  entitled  Medo,  by  Professor  Clo- 
dius,  Gellert's  deputy.  I  was  the  author  of  one  of  these  epi- 
grams. All  this  was  reported  to  the  father  of  his  pupil,  and 
Behrisch  was  discharged.  This  circumstance,  however,  proved 
advantageous  to  him.  His  prepossessing  appearance,  knowledge, 
accomplishments,  and  irreproachable  probity,  had  gained  him 
the  esteem  and  good-will  of  many  persons  of  distinction  ;  through 
whose  recommendation  he  obtained  the  place  of  governor  to  the 
hereditary  prince  of  Hesse-Darmstadt,  and  was  thus  established 
in  a  comfortable  and  permament  situation  at  the  court  of  an  ex- 
cellent prince. 

I  felt  the  loss  of  Behrisch  severely.  He  knew  how  to  deal 
with  my  capricious  temper,  constantly  fluctuating  between  the 
extremes  of  sadness  and  petulance.  He  attracted  me  to  him- 
self, and  formed  my  character.  His  presence  was  necessary 
to  me  in  society,  where  he  possessed  the  art  of  rendering  me 
supportable.  But  my  social  character  had  not  yet  acquired 
sufficient  consistency.  Accordingly,  after  his  departure,  Î  soon 
relapsed  into  my  eccentricities  ;  and  became  once  more  dissa- 
tisfied with  others,  because  I  thought  them  discontented  with 
me.  My  misbehaviour  estranged  from  me  several  of  those  with 
whom  I  had  lived  on  pretty  good  terms.  I  was  always  either 
troublesome  or  negligent;  and  did  either  too  much  or  too 
little.  My  blunders  produced  unpleasant  consequences  either 
to  others  or  to  myself.  There  was  but  one  opinion,  even 
among  those  who  were  my  well  wishers,  on  the  subject  of  my 
total  want  of  knowledge  of  the  world  and  experience.  I  en- 
deavoured to  discover  what  this  knowledge  and  experience, 
in  which  1  was  said  to  be  deficient,  could  be  ;  but  without 
success.  This  idea  fixed  upon  my  brain.  The  desire  to  gain 
information  on  this  subject  became  a  passion,  a  mania, 
in  my  mind.  There  happened  to  be  an  officer  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, who  was  highly  spoken  of  as  a  man  of  great  understand- 
ing and  experience.  He  had  served  throughout  the  seven  years' 
war,  and  acquired  the  confidence  of  every  one.  It  was  ex- 
tremely easy  for  me  to  consult  him,  as  we  often  walked  out  to- 
gether.   !  openly  and  ingenuously  imparled  my  perplexity  to 


114 


ME5I0IRS  OP  GOETHE* 


him  :  he  laughed  at  it  ;  and  was  kind  enough  to  relate  to  me  a 
few  anecdotes  of  his  life,  and  of  the  world  in  which  he  had 
lived,  by  way  of  answering  my  questions.  All  that  I  could 
gather  from  it,  to  the  best  of  my  comprehension,  was  nearly 
this  :  that  we  learn  by  experience  that  it  is  a  folly  to  hope  for 
the  accomplishment  of  our  wishes,  our  dearest  projects,  our  best 
ideas  ;  and  that  whoever  suffers  himself  to  be  caught  by  such 
baits,  and  warml)  expresses  his  hopes,  is  considered  as  singular- 
ly devoid  of  experience.  My  Mentor  confessed,  however,  that 
he  himself  had  not  yet  renounced  everj  folly  ;  and  that  he  still 
retained  that  of  love  and  hope,  without  finding  himself  much 
the  worse  for  it.  I  learned  from  him  many  interesting  particu- 
lars of  the  seven  years'  war,  and  of  the  preceding  state  of  the 
court  of  Saxony.  He  related  numerous  anecdotes  of  the  sur» 
prising  bodily  strength  of  King  Augustus  II.  ;  of  the  great  num- 
ber of  his  children  ;  of  his  successor's  passion  for  the  fine  arts, 
and  collections  of  pictures  :  of  Count  Bruhl  ;  his  unbounded 
Magnificence  ;  his  buildings,  which  often  indicated  but  little 
taste  :  and  of  all  the  pompous  entertainments  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  Frederic's  invasion  of  Saxony.  These  accounts  made 
a  very  singular  impression  upon  me.  All  those  fine  royal  man- 
sions were  destroyed,  all  Count  Bruhl's  splendour  annihilated, 
Out  of  all  those  proofs  of  pomp  and  luxury,  nothing  now  re- 
mained but  a  country  in  a  state  of  desolation,  although  truly 
magnificent. 

When  my  Mentor  perceived  the  astonishment  which  this  in- 
sensate use  of  good  fortune  excited  in  me,  and  the  concern  I 
felt  for  the  calamities  which  had  followed  it,  he  told  me  that  I 
must  not  be  surprised  at  any  thing,  nor  take  it  too  much  to  heart. 
But  I  felt  it  a  happiness  to  preserve  my  inexperience  a  little 
longer  :  I  told  him  so  ;  he  encouraged  my  inclination,  advising 
me  to  confine  myself  as  much  as  possible  to  experience  of  an 
agreeable  kind. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Another  person  to  whom  I  was  then  under  many  obligations 
was  Oëser,  director  of  the  academy  of  drawing  established  in  the 
old  mansion  of  Pleissenberg,  where  he  resided.  The  first  room  in 
his  apartments  was  adorned  with  pictures  by  the  Italian  masters 
of  the  new  school,  the  grace  of  which  he  admired  greatly.  In 
this  room  I  took  private  lessons  of  him,  with  some  young  no- 
blemen :  he  allowed  us  to  draw  there.  He  designed  engravings 
for  several  works  with  great  talent.  The  vignettes  which  adorn 
Wnkelmann's  early  writings  were  engraved  by  him.  All  his 
compositions  were  distinguished  by  peculiar  gracefulness. 

The  new  theatre  built  at  this  period  excited  great  attention. 
The  curtain  had  a  very  pleasing  effect.    Oëser  had  brought  the 


ItfEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHL. 


115 


Moses  from  the  clouds,  in  which  they  are  usually  placed,  and 
caused  them  to  descend  to  earth.  This  curtain  exhibited  the 
peristyle  of  the  Temple  of  Glory,  decorated  with  the  statues  of 
Sophocles  and  Aristophanes,  round  which  were  assembled  the 
modern  dramatic  poets.  Farther  off,  on  the  same  plan,  were 
seen  the  goddesses  of  the  arts.  All  in  these  groups  was  in  a  fine 
style.  But  what  excited  surprise  was  the  figure  of  a  man  slightly 
clothed,  in  the  back  ground  of  the  picture,  advancing  towards 
the  portal  of  the  temple,  in  the  space  which  remained  vacant 
between  the  two  groups,  of  which  he  seemed  to  take  no  notice- 
He  turned  his  back  on  the  spectators.  He  was  not  distinguished 
by  any  remarkable  characteristic.  But  who  could  fail  to  discover 
that  it  was  Shakspeare  ;  who,  without  predecessor  or  follower, 
without  regarding  any  model,  passed  on  towards  immortality  with 
a  firm  and  certain  step  ? 

My  progress  in  the  practice  of  the  art  was  but  slow.  But 
many  subjects  treated  by  the  artist  awakened  my  poetical  ta- 
lents. I  composed  poems  for  engravings  as  many  others  designed 
engravings  for  poems.  I  thus  accustomed  myself  to  consider 
these  two  arts  in  their  mutual  relations.  We  devoted  ourselves 
with  assiduous  zeal  to  the  study  of  theoretical  works  on  the  fine 
arts.  The  researches  of  the  most  celebrated  amateurs  of  France 
and  Germany  occupied  us  no  less  seriously.  The  rivals  of  Cay- 
ius,  Christ,  Heinecke,  and  Lippert,  were  so  many  oracles  whom 
we  took  pleasure  in  consulting.  Our  thoughts  followed  our  il- 
lustrious countryman|Winkelmann  into  Italy,  whilst  he  there  con- 
secrated his  life  to  the  arts,  with  so  much  honour  to  himself.  We 
read  his  early  writings  with  respect.  Oëser  had  found  it  easy 
to  communicate  to  us  his  passionate  admiration  of  this  great 
genius.  There  were  a  few  enlightened  amateurs  at  Leipsic, 
whose  acquaintance  was  also  highly  useful  to  us.  Hùber,  a 
connoisseur  of  approved  taste,  was  one  of  them.  His  collection 
of  engravings  pleased  us  highly.  Another  merit  which  he  had 
in  our  eyes,  was  that  of  having  made  the  French  sensible  of  the 
value  of  German  literature.* 

Thus  I  neglected  the  object  for  which  my  family  had  sent  me 
to  the  university,  and  the  plans  of  study  which  I  had  laid  down 
for  myself:  but  I  was  gaining  a  knowledge  of  the  arts,  to  which 
I  have  been  indebted  for  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life. 
When  a  young  man  has  acquired  knowledge  hastily  and  from  the 
conversation  of  learned  men,  he  has  yet  the  most  difficult  task 
to  perform  ;  that  of  reducing  to  order  in  his  head  what  he  has 
only  learnt  flying,  as  it  may  be  said.  We  anxiously  sought  a 
torch,  to  guide  us  by  its  light.  This  torch  was  presented  to  us 
by  a  man  to  whom  we  were  already  under  great  obligations. 

With  what  joy  did  we  hail  this  luminous  ray,  which  a  thinker 
of  the  first  order  suddenly  struck  out  from  clouds  of  darkness  Î 


*  As  the  translator  of  Gessner,  Winkelman,  Hagedorn,  &c. — Efc». 


11G 


MEMOIRS  Of  GOETHE  » 


All  the  fire  of  youth  would  be  requisite  to  conceive  the  effect 
which  Lessing's  Laocoon  produced  upon  us,  when  that  work 
first  drew  us  out  of  the  regions  of  barren  contemplation,  to 
launch  us  into  the  free  and  fertile  field  of  thought.  The  long 
misunderstood  adage  of  "  Ut  pictura poësis"  was  at  length  eluci- 
dated.  The  difference  between  the  art  of  painting  and  that  of 
writing  was  at  length  rendered  obvious.  It  was  seen  that,  al- 
though the  bases  of  these  arts  might  touch  each  other,  their 
summits  were  distinct  and  separate.  ïn  fact,  it  is  in  vain  that 
the  painter  envies  the  poet  the  faculty  of  seizing  and  character- 
izing all  objects,  and  of  overstepping  the  limits  of  the  beauti- 
ful :  these  limits  will  nevertheless  remain  the  line  of  demarca- 
tion which  painting  cannot  pass  ;  for  its  object  is  to  satisfy  the 
eye,  which  nothing  but  the  beautiful  can  delight.  The  poet,  on 
the  contrary,  labours  for  the  imagination  -,  which,  although  it 
repels  odious  objects  themselves,  does  not  object  to  their  repre- 
sentation. A  single  glance,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  revealed  to  us 
all  the  consequences  of  this  magnificent  thought.  All  the  su- 
perannuated criticism,  which  had  formerly  been  the  only  guide 
of  our  judgments  and  reflections,  was  now  thrown  aside  like  a 
worn-out  garment.  Delivered  from  these  trammels,  we  looked 
with  an  eye  of  compassion  on  the  pictures  and  poetry  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  in  which  life,  death,  and  the  evils  which  ne- 
cessity or  chance  inflict  on  the  world,  were  represented  under 
the  most  ridiculous  forms. 

Thought  and  contemplation  afford  each  other  mutual  assist- 
ance. Whilst  I  studied  the  Laocoon,  1  felt  the  strongest  desire 
to  see,  at  least  once  in  my  life,  a  great  number  of  remarkable 
monuments  of  art  collected  together.  I  soon  determined  on  a 
journey  to  Dresden.  From  one  of  the  singularities  of  my  cha- 
racter, I  communicated  this  journey  to  no  one.  I  wished  to  look 
about  me  freely,  and  to  consult  only  my  own  impressions.  I  in- 
herited from  my  father  a  decided  aversion  to  lodging  at  inns.  I 
went  to  a  shoemaker's,  cousin  to  the  theologian  near  whose 
apartment  1  lodged  at  Leipsic.  The  letters  of  my  new  host  to 
his  relation  had  always  appeared  to  me  full  of  sense,  wit,  and 
good  humour.  He  was  poor  and  content.  I  was  curious  to 
have  a  nearer  view  of  a  practical  philosopher,  a  sage  uncon- 
scious of  being  one.  I  had  every  reason  to  be  pleased  with  his 
character  and  attentions,  as  well  as  those  of  his  wife. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  at  Dresden  I  waited  with  impatience 
for  the  hour  at  which  the  gallery  opened.  On  entering  this 
sanctuary,  my  admiration  exceeded  all  I  had  expected.  This 
extensive  hall,  the  pomp,  the  extreme  neatness  and  order,  the 
silence  that  prevailed,  the  rich  carpets,  the  flooring  more  trod- 
den by  the  curious  crowd  than  worn  by  the  assiduity  of  the  art- 
ists, gave  the  idea  of  a  fête  of  an  unique  description.  The  im- 
pression felt  was  the  same  as  on  entering  a  building  consecrated 
to  the  divinity.    And,  in  fact,  every  object  of  pious  respect 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOÏSTHE»  117 

seemed  to  be  collected  in  this  temple  in  honour  of  the  god  who 
presides  over  the  arts. 

The  short  period  of  my  residence  at  Dresden  was  devoted  to 
the  picture  gallery.  The  antiques  were  placed  in  the  pavilions 
of  a  grand  garden.  1  neither  saw  them  nor  the  other  curiosities 
which  the  town  contained,  i  was  full  of  the  idea  that  too  many 
objects  in  the  gallery  alone  would  still  escape  my  observation. 
Thus,  for  instance,  1  rather  admired  the  fine  works  of  the  Italian 
masters  on  the  faith  of  others,  than  as  being  really  sensible  of 
their  merit. 

Before  I  left  Dresden,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  presented 
to  the  director  of  the  gallery,  Mr.  Hagedorn.  A  young  amateur 
whom  I  had  met  introduced  me  to  him.  Mr.  h'agedorn  very 
kindly  showed  me  his  private  collection,  and  seemed  charmed 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  young  friend  of  the  arts.  Like  all 
connoisseurs,  he  had  a  great  predilection  for  the  pictures  he  pos- 
sessed ;  and  peopie  seldom  appeared  to  him  fully  sensible  of 
their  merit.  He  was  therefore  delighted  at  my  admiration  of  a  pic- 
ture by  Schwanefeld,  the  beauties  of  which  1  contemplated  and 
praised  with  warmth.  This  landscape  reminded  me  of  that  mild 
pure  sky  beneath  which  1  was  born,  of  the  fertile  fields  of  my 
native  country,  and  all  the  favours  of  a  temperate  climate.  The 
imitation,  strongly  awakening  these  remembrances,  had  power- 
fully affected  me. 

But  the  pleasure  of  these  valuable  observations,  which  were 
developing  in  my  organs  and  mind  the  true  sentiment  of  art,  was 
painfully  suspended — nay,  annihilated — by  the  sad  spectacle  of 
the  destruction  and  solitude  which  reigned  in  part  of  the  capital 
of  Saxony.  A  whole  street  in  ruins  :  the  church  of  the  Holy 
Cross,  with  its  tower  rent  and  dilapidated,  presented  a  scene  of 
desolation  which  remained  deeply  impressed  on  my  memory. 
From  the  top  of  the  cupola  of  Our  Lady's  church,  I  contem- 
plated with  grief  all  the  ruins  scattered  among  the  regular 
buildings  of  this  beautiful  city.  The  sexton  spoke  highly  of  the 
art  of  the  able  architect,  who,  in  constructing  this  beautiful  mo- 
nument and  its  cupola,  little  thought  that  he  was  only  erecting  a 
mark  for  bombs.  As  the  honest  man  pointed  out  to  n>e  the  ruins 
which  lay  on  every  side,  he  said  in  a  mournful  and  laconic  tone, 
£i  That  is  the  enemy's  work." 

On  my  return  to  Leipsic  1  experienced  the  truth  of  the  old 
adage,  "  An  increase  of  knowledge  is  an  increase  of  trouble.'" 
Ttie  more  I  endeavoured  to  cla-s  my  recent  impressions,  and 
render  them  u-eful,  the  less  I  succeeded,  i  was  at  length  obiiged 
to  leave  them  to  arrange  themselves  at  leisure  in  m)  head  and 
sought  diversion  in  occupations  more  suitable  to  my  faculties.  I 
formed  several  new  connexions  both  agreeable  and  useful  ; 
among  others  with  the  family  of  the  rich  bookseller  Breiktopf  : 
with  doctor  Reichel,  whom  I  consulted  from  time  to  time  with 
respect  to  my  health  ;  'and  with  Stock  the  engraver,  under 


118 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


whose  direction  I  amused  myself  in  his  art  with  tolerable  suc- 
cess. At  the  same  time  I  used  to  visit  Weisse,  receiver  of  taxes 
for  the  circle,  whose  dramatic  pieces  were  not  models,  but  whose 
operas  diverted  us  greatly  ;  Schiebler  of  Hamburg,  who  com- 
posed in  the  same  style  ;  Eschenburg,  who  was  a  litte  older 
than  myself,  and  one  of  the  students  most  distinguished  for  ca- 
pacity. Zachary  was  introduced  by  his  brother,  and  became 
for  some  weeks  one  of  our  guests.  We  endeavoured  to  testify 
our  sense  of  the  honour  he  did  us  by  rendering  our  fare  a  little 
more  dainty  than  usual  ;  for  Zachary  loved  good  eating,  and 
did  not  conceal  his  taste.  Lessing  also  came  for  some  time. 
1  know  not  what  it  was  that  we  took  into  our  heads,  but  we  did 
not  think  ht  to  endeavour  to  see  him.  On  the  contrary,  we 
avoided  meeting  him  •  doubtless  through  timidity,  for  we  were 
sensible  that  we  had  no  claim  to  any  connexion  with  so  celebra- 
ted a  man.  I  was  in  the  end  justly  punished  for  this  shyness? 
which  is  very  common  among  reserved  and  susceptible  youths  5 
for  I  never  afterwards  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  this  man, 
whom  1  always  highly  esteemed  as  a  character  of  the  first 
order. 

In  all  our  endeavours  to  attain  a  knowledge  of  art  and  anti- 
quity, it  was  Winkelmann  whom  we  had  before  our  eyes.  His 
genius  excited  universal  enthusiasm  in  his  native  country.  We 
read  his  writings  with  attention.  That  was  the  happy  period  of 
our  literature,  when  merit  was  greeted  by  general  esteem  ;  yet 
the  disputes  of  Clotz  and  Lessing  already  announced  the  ap- 
proaching termination  of  this  favourable  season.  Winkelmann. 
however,  enjoyed  unbounded  respect  :  his  reputation  remained 
unimpaired  ;  and  it  is  well  known  how  sensible  he  was  to  testi- 
monies of  public  esteem.  All  the  writings  of  the  period  spoke 
of  him  in  honourable  terms.  The  most  enlightened  travellers 
returned  delighted  with  him,  and  with  the  information  he  had 
communicated  to  them  :  his  novel  views  at  once  instructed  and 
interested  his  readers.  The  young  prince  of  Dessau  partook  of 
the  universal  enthusiasm.  Born  with  a  noble  and  benevolent 
soul,  he  had  acquired  general  esteem.  Every  thing  contributed 
to  prepossess  the  world  in  favour  of  a  prince  whose  example  was 
at  once  a  stimulus  and  a  guide  for  persons  of  the  same  rank  and 
who  promised  his  subjects  a  new  age  of  gold.  We  heard  with 
the  liveliest  joy  that  Winkelmann  was  about  to  return  to  Italy  ; 
that  he  was  to  visit  the  prince,  his  illustrious  friend  ;  and  to  see 
Oëser  on  his  road  :  we  were,  therefore,  to  partake  of  the  hap- 
piness of  his  presence.  We  certainly  did  not  pretend  to  the  ho- 
nour of  conversing  with  him  ;  but  at  least  we  thought  we  should 
see  him  at  our  ease.  At  our  age,  every  event  produces  a  party 
of  pleasure.  We  were  already  projecting  rides  and  walks  to 
Dessau,  and  enjoying,  in  anticipation,  the  sight  of  that  fertile 
country  embellished  by  the  arts;  that  country  so  wisely  governed, 
and  so  richly  adorned.    We  had  resolved  to  seize  every  oppor- 


.MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE» 


119 


tunity  of  gratifying  ourselves  with  the  sight  of  these  men,  who 
stood  so  high  in  our  opinion.  Oëser  himself  was  wound  up  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  expectation.  In  the  midst  of  our  joyful  ex- 
ultation, the  news  of  Winkelmann's  tragical  death  appalled  us 
like  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder  in  the  finest  weather.*  I  was  in 
the  court  of  Pleissenburg  house,  not  far  from  the  little  door  that 
led  to  Oëser's  apartments,  when  I  heard  of  this  fatal  event.  One 
of  my  fellow-students  came  to  meet  me,  and  told  me  that  Oëser 
was  not  visible  :  at  the  same  time  explaining  the  cause  of  his  se- 
clusion. The  effect  of  this  horrible  event  was  universal  afflic- 
tion. The  premature  death  of  our  illustrious  countryman  made  us 
more  sensible  than  ever  of  the  greatness  of  his  genius.  Possi- 
bly, if  his  life  had  been  prolonged  to  old  age,  his  genius  would 
not  have  possessed  so  powerful  an  influence  over  the  opinions  of 
mankind  as  that  which  he  obtained  after  Destiny,  according  to 
its  usual  treatment  of  extraordinary  men,  had  terminated  his  ca- 
reer by  a  death  as  unexpected  as  terrible. 

Whilst  I  was  disconsolately  lamenting  the  death  of  Winkel- 
mann,  I  little  thought  that  I  should  soon  have  cause  to  feel  ap- 
prehensions for  my  own  life  :  but  my  health  was  fast  declining, 
I  had  brought  with  me  to  Leipsic  a  disposition  to  hypochondria, 
which  a  sedentary  and  confined  life  tended  rather  to  strengthen 
than  to  remove.  The  pains  which  I  had  from  time  to  time  felt 
in  my  chest,  ever  since  the  overturning  of  our  coach  at  Averstadt, 
and  which  had  been  increased  by  a  fall  from  a  horse,  threw  me 
into  a  painful  state  of  dejection.  An  unfortunate  dietetic  system 
deprived  me  even  of  strength  to  endure  my  sufferings.  The  va- 
pours of  the  heavy  beer  of  Merseburg  clogged  my  brain.  The 
use  of  coffee,  which  never  agreed  with  me,  particularly  when 
taken  with  milk  after  a  meal,  paralysed  my  digestive  faculties, 
and  seemed  to  stop  their  action  entirely.  All  these  causes 
combined,  had  already  caused  me  severe  sufferings  ;  and 
yet  I  had  not  had  sufficient  resolution  to  adopt  a  better  re- 
gimen. It  was  at  this  period  that  the  use  of  the  cold  bath 
was  so  much  recommended,  without  any  precaution.  At  the 
same  time,  we  were  to  sleep  on  hard  couches,  and  slightly 
covered  ;  a  practice  which  stopped  transpiration.  It  was  by 
these  follies,  and  others  of  the  same  kind,  resulting  from  a  false 
interpretation  of  Rousseau's  precepts,  that  we  were  to  be  re- 
claimed to  nature,  and  preserved  from  corruption  of  manners* 
All  these  maxims  of  the  moment,  indiscriminately  and  impru- 
dently applied,  produced  only  bad  effects.  1  was  thus  destroy- 
ing my  excellent  physical  constitution.  The  obstinacy  with 
which  I  pursued  these  systems  could  not  fail  to  end  in  a  crisis 
which  alone  could  preserve  me. 

One  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  violent  haemorrhage.  Doc- 
tor Reichel  was  called,  who  immediately  came  to  my  assistance  : 

*  Winkelmann  was  assassinated  at  Trieste,  by  a  wretch  named  Archangel  i, 
who  had  obtained  his  confidence  by  affecting  an  enthusiasm  frr  the  arts. — Ep, 


120 


HEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


I  was  several  days  between  life  and  death.  Even  the  joy  of  a 
sensible  improvement  was  much  damped  by  an  abscess  which 
formed  in  the  left  side  of  my  neck  :  but  a  cure  is  always  agree- 
able, even  when  it  is  slow  and  painful.  Through  the  bounty  of 
nature  which  came  to  my  aid,  I  seemed  to  have  become  quite 
another  man.  1  felt  a  serenity  of  mind  to  which  I  had  previ- 
ously been  a  stranger  ;  and  I  was  elated  with  joy  at  feeling  my- 
self internally  free,  although  I  was  threatened  with  a  long  con- 
valesence. 

But  what  most  contributed  to  raise  my  spirits  was  the  unme- 
rited interest  taken  in  my  fate  by  men  of  estimable  character. 
I  say  unmerited,  because  there  was  not  one  of  them  whom  I  had 
not  wearied  with  my  caprices,  teased  with  the  peevish  humour 
of  ill  health,  or  foolishly  neglected  through  consciousness  of  my 
bad  behaviour  towards  them.  All  was  forgotten  ;  they  showed 
the  warmest  affection  for  me.  As  long  as  I  kept  my  apartment, 
and  after  I  was  able  to  go  out,  they  used  to  come  and  see  me,  in 
order  to  divert  me  by  their  conversation.  They  took  me  to 
their  country  houses  ;  and,  owing  to  all  these  cares,  I  was  soon 
restored  to  health.  One  of  the  persons  to  whom  1  was  under 
the  greatest  obligations  at  this  time  was  Mr.  Langer,  afterwards 
librarian  at  Wolfen battel.  His  kindness  was  particularly  enti- 
tled to  iny  gratitude,  for  he  was  the  new  Mentor  of  the  young 
Count  Lindenau  ;  and  i  had  been  represented  to  him  as  a  dan- 
gerous character,  with  whom  he  was  forbidden  to  associate.  I 
had  almost  become  a  stranger  to  German  literature,  and  to  every 
poetical  attempt.  1  returned,  with  extreme  pleasure,  to  my 
cherished  writers  of  antiquity.  As  the  voyager  is  pleased  to 
distinguish  in  the  distance  ihe  blue  mountains  of  New  Hoi  land, 
the  contours  and  masses  of  which  he  perceives  without  being 
able  to  ascertain  their  interior  situation  or  different  parts,  1  al- 
ways had  these  great  masters  in  my  intellectual  horizon  ;  and  to 
them  all  my  vows  were  addressed.  I  made  an  exchange  with 
Mr.  Langer,  the  advantage  of  which  was  entirely  on  my  side. 
I  gave  him  a  basket-full  of  German  poets  and  critics  ;  and  re- 
ceived in  return  a  certain  number  ol  Greek  authors,  the  study  of 
which  occupied  me  very  agreeably  during  a  long  convalescence. 

Confidence  usually  discovers  itself  by  degrees  between  new 
friends.  At  first  harmony  is  generated  by  the  conformity  of  oc- 
cupations and  taste.  The  parties  nexi  conhde  to  each  other 
their  past  and  present  passions,  and  particularly  their  amorous 
adventures:  but.  to  complete  the  in'imacy  of  their  connexion, 
it  must  be  strengthened  by  sentiments  more  deeply  inherent  in 
us  ;  I  mean  religious  sentiments — interests  sacred  to  the  heart, 
the  object  of  which  is  above  the  reach  cf  time.  It  is  thus  that 
the  basis  of  friendship  is  strengthened,  whilst  its  summit  is 
crowned. 

The  Christian  religion  was  then  fluctuating  between  its  own 
constitution,  founded  on  historical  traditions  as  wrell  as  on  posi- 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


m 


live  laws,  and  a  pure  Deism,  the  source  of  which  was  morality, 
and  which  was  in  turn  destined  to  become  its  foundation.  The 
diversity  of  characters  and  opinions  exhibited  on  this  occasion 
an  infinité  number  of  shades.  What  rendered  it  still  more  stri- 
king, was  the  indecision  that  prevailed  relative  to  the  greater 
or  less  extent  of  influence  that  reason  and  sentiment  ought  res- 
pectively to  possess  over  our  belief.  The  most  animated  and 
daring  minds  might  now  be  compared  to  butterflies  throwing  off 
the  covering  under  which  they  have  attained  their  perfect  or- 
ganization. Minds  of  another  stamp,  more  faithful  and  modest, 
might  be  compared  to  those  branches  of  shrubs  which,  after 
having  unfolded  to  view  the  loveliest  flowers,  still  remain  attach- 
ed to  their  maternal  trunk  and  root,  and  avail  themselves  of  these 
family  ties  to  bring  the  desired  fruit  to  maturity.  Langer  be- 
longed to  the  latter  class  :  erudite  as  he  was,  and  versed  in  the 
knowledge  of  books,  the  Bible  still  possessed,  in  his  estimation, 
an  incontestable  superiority  over  all  others  ;  and  remained  the 
stem  to  which  all  moral  instruction,  all  cultivation  of  the  under- 
standing, is  attached.  He  was  one  of  those  who  cannot  com- 
prehend an  immediate  relation  between  the  individual  and  the 
Supreme  Master  of  the  universe.  He  felt  a  mediation  neces- 
sary :  and  considered  that  something  analogous  to  it  was  to  be 
found  in  all  the  productions  of  heaven  and  earth.  His  agreea- 
ble and  well-connected  doctrine  found  easy  access  into  the  heart 
of  a  youth  separated  by  an  afflicting  complaint  from  the  things 
of  this  world,  and  wishing,  above  all  things,  to  turn  the  activity 
of  his  mind  towards  heaven.  His  ideas  met  with  perfectly  sym- 
pathetic inclinations  in  my  mind. 

I  admired  the  Bible  as  the  work  of  the  Divinity  :  I  loved  the 
Gospel  as  the  book  of  suffering  men,  of  tender  and  feeble  souls. 
The  few  discussions  we  had  with  my  friend  arose  from  the  cir- 
cumstance that  he,  possessing  a  strong  understanding,  did  not 
approve  of  the  domination  of  sensibility  :  whilst,  for  my  part,  I 
should  have  been  much  dissatisfied  with  myself  had  I  not  been 
filled  with  emotion  and  enthusiasm  on  reading  the  New  Testa- 
ment. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  September  1 768,  in  my  twentieth  year, 
that  I  left  Leipsic.  In  the  vicinity  of  Averstadt  I  thought  of 
the  accident  I  had  experienced  there.  But  1  did  not  foresee 
the  much  greater  danger  with  which  1  was  to  be  threatened  at 
the  same  place,  many  years  afterward  ;  nor  could  I  possibly  feel 
any  presentiment,  when  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle  at  Gotha, 
which  we  saw  in  passing  through  the  place,  that  I  was  there  des- 
tined to  receive  proofs  of  an  attachment  and  favour  which  I 
value  so  highly.* 

*  The  Dukes  of  Saxe- Weimar  and  Saxe-Gotha  are  the  most  zealous  protectors 
of  literature  and  science  in  Germany.  Goethe  here  alludes  to  his  long  residence 
with  the  Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar,  in  the  highly  honourable  capacity  of  first  minister 
to  that  prince. 

Q 


122 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


The  nearer  I  approached  to  my  native  city,  the  more  seriously 
1  began  to  reflect  under  what  circumstances,  with  what  views 
and  hopes,  I  had  quitted  it  :  and  it  was  with  a  painful  sense  of 
dejection  that  I  felt  myself  returning  like  a  man  ho  has  with 
difficulty  escaped  from  a  shipwreck.  Still,  as  I  had  nothing 
very  blameable  to  reproach  myself  with,  I  contrived  to  calm  my 
feelings.  My  meeting  with  my  parents  was  attended  with  the 
strongest  emotions  on  all  sides.  My  illness  must  have  altered 
me  greatly  :  but  no  observation  was  made  on  the  change  ;  and  I 
was  immediately  persuaded  to  seek  that  mental  and  bodily  repose 
I  so  much  needed. 

I  found  that  my  sister's  regard  for  me  had  remained  unaltered  ; 
but  she  seemed  to  me  more  dissatisfied  with  my  father  than  ever. 
He  had  compelled  her  to  endure  the  whole  weight  of  his  teach- 
ing mania,  in  the  most  rigorous  manner.  Throughout  the  three 
years  just  elapsed,  he  had  kept  her  constantly  at  her  tasks  in 
French,  Italian,  and  English.  Her  harpsichord,  and  her  cor- 
respondence with  me,  in  which  I  had  remarked  my  father's  in- 
tervention, had  always  filled  up  the  remainder  of  her  day.  She 
had  almost  been  forbidden  every  amusement,  particularly  out 
of  doors.  My  sister  highly  resented  this  extreme  severity  :  and 
in  this  feeling  she  forgot  my  father's  excellent  qualities  ;  not  that 
she  had  ceased  to  obey  him,  but  she  obeyed  without  affection  or 
zeal.  My  mother  complained  to  me  of  this  in  private.  That 
instinctive  want  of  loving  and  being  beloved  which  every  human 
being  feels,  and  which  Cornelia  felt  as  strongly  as  others,  had 
entirely  devolved  on  me.  She  thought  of  nothing  but  me.  Her 
companions,  over  whom  she  unconsciously  exercised  an  abso- 
lute power,  were  obliged  to  join  in  her  sentiments,  and  to  assist 
her  in  procuring  me  consolations,  and  rendering  life  agreeable 
to  me.  She  was  always  inventing  some  new  amusement  for 
me  ;  and  displayed,  with  this  intention,  a  playfulness  which  I 
had  never  observed  in  her,  and  which  rendered  her  extremely 
amiable. 

My  father  seemed  tolerably  satisfied.  Almost  all  his  time  was 
devoted  to  the  education  of  my  sister,  or  to  writing  the  narra- 
tive of  his  travels.  He  concealed  as  well  as  he  could  the  disap- 
pointment he  felt  at  finding,  instead  of  an  active,  well-disposed 
youth,  ready  to  pursue  the  plan  of  life  he  had  traced  out  for 
him,  nothing  but  an  ailing  creature,  whose  mind  appeared  still 
more  disordered  than  his  body.  He  did  not,  however,  dissemble 
his  impatience  to  see  me  speedily  restored  to  health.  To  avoid 
increasing  this  impatience,  I  was  obliged  to  use  great  precaution 
in  his  presence,  against  every  symptom  of  my  hypochondriac 
affections. 

My  mother,  whose  natural  disposition  was  very  gay  and  lively, 
had  a  very  tedious  time  of  it.  The  superintendence  of  a  small 
household  was  insufficient  to  occupy  her.  Her  good  and  sen- 
sitive soul  required  an  object  of  affection  :  which  religion,  and 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOKTHE. 


123 


ihe  friendship  of  several  ladies  of  sincere  and  enlightened  piety, 
had  afforded  her.    Among  these  was  Mademoiselle  Von  Klet- 
tenberg,  a  sectary  of  the  famous  Count  Zinzendorf.    It  was  from 
her  conversations  and  letters  that  I  took  "  The  Confessions  of  a 
Noble  Mind,"  inserted  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister."    The  eminent 
moral  and  mental  qualities  of  this  lady,  and  the  knowledge  of 
the  world  and  of  court  which  she  owed  to  her  birth  and  educa- 
tion, rendered  her  a  most  agreeable  acquaintance.    The  elegant 
simplicity  of  her  dress  resembled  the  costume  of  the  Moravian 
sisters.    Her  serenity  and  calmness  of  mind  never  abandoned 
her.    Considering  the  languishing  state  of  her  health  as  the  ne- 
cessary condition  of  her  existence  in  this  world,  she  endured  her 
sufferings  with  angelic  patience  ;  and  in  the  intervals  between 
her  illnesses  she  was  lively  and  talkative.    Her  conversation 
turned  generally,  or  rather  wholly,  on  the  moral  advantage  of  the 
observations  which  wre  may  make  on  ourselves,  and  on  the  re- 
ligious sentiments  connected  with  this  practice.    On  these  sub- 
jects she  expressed  herself  with  peculiar  grace.    She  found  in 
me  a  young  adept,  aspiring  with  all  his  might  to  an  unknown 
happiness.    Although  1  was  not  a  very  great  sinner,  I  was  not 
what  Ï  ought  to  have  been  ;  and  my  moral  state,  like  my  health, 
left  much  to  be  wished  for.    Mademoiselle  Klettenberg  thought 
highly  of  several  natural  or  acquired  faculties  which  she  observed 
in  me.    These  gifts,  however,  which  she  ascribed  to  me,  excited 
neither  jealousy  nor  timidity  in  her  :  in  the  first  place,  because 
she  had  never  thought  of  entering  into  competition  with  any 
man  ;  and  secondly,  because  she  was  fully  sensible  of  the  advan- 
tages she  had  over  me  with  respect  to  religious  sentiments.  She 
interpreted  my  anxiety,  impatience,  efforts,  researches,  and 
doubts,  as  incident  to  a  soul  which  is  not  at  peace  with  God. 
But  I  had  always  persuaded  myself  that  I  had  no  reason  to  be 
uneasy  on  this  point  ;  nay,  I  had  carried  my  temerity  so  far  as 
to  fancy  that  the  Divinity  was  in  my  debt,  if  I  may  use  the  ex- 
pression.   This  blindness  arose  from  my  absolute  persuasion  that 
my  unbounded  zeal  might  have  been  better  rewarded  by  Divine 
grace.    My  directress  and  1  had  continual  disputes  on  this  point. 
She  always  concluded  by  treating  me  as  a  thoughtless  youth  who 
stood  in  need  of  indulgence. 

The  abscess  in  my  neck  caused  me,  at  first,  more  inconve- 
nience than  pain.  The  physician  and  surgeon  who  attended 
me  long  endeavoured  to  disperse  it.  They  at  length  resolved  to 
cut  into  the  quick,  and  used  the  infernal  stone  and  other  caustics, 
which  caused  me  cruel  tortures.  These  gentlemen  both  pro- 
fessed a  mystic  piety.  The  physician  pretended  to  cure  all 
diseases  by  means  of  a  secret,  consisting  of  a  wonderful  salt? 
which  he  alone  knew  how  to  compose.  Finding  Mademoiselle 
Klettenberg,  as  well  as  myself,  in  some  degree  inclined  to  such 
pursuits,  he  recommended  us  to  study  seriously  some  mystico- 
chemi-alchymic  works,  assuring  us  that  this  study  would  disclose 


124 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHL. 


to  us  the  intimate  relation  that  subsisted  between  all  the  secrets 
of  nature  ;  and  would  enable  us  to  attain,  of  ourselves,  the 
knowledge  of  this  precious  salt.  These  promises  were  attract- 
ive to  us.  Mademoiselle  Klettenberg  thought  there  was  a  close 
connexion  between  a  sound  state  of  the  soul,  and  physical  health. 
Besides,  what  efficacious  means  she  would  possess  of  exercising 
her  active  benevolence,  if  she  should  succeed  in  discovering  an 
agent  capable  of  removing  or  preventing  so  many  evils  !  With 
this  intention  she  had  already  tried,  but  without  much  success, 
to  decipher  the  enigmas  of  Welling's  "  Opus  Magocabalisti- 
cum."  Ascending  to  the  original  source  of  the  works  of  this 
description,  we  came  to  the  school  of  the  new  Platonics  of  Alex- 
andria. We  pursued  this  study  ;  Mademoiselle  Klettenberg,  my 
mother,  and  I.  We  devoured  the  works  quoted  with  respect  by 
Welling  ;  the  writings  of  Theophrastus  Paracelsus,  Basilius  Va- 
lentinus,  Van  Helmont,  Starkey,  and  others  ;  among  which  the 
"  Aurea  Catena  Homeri"  gave  me  great  pleasure.  We  con- 
sumed much  time  in  these  fantastic  researches  ;  which  occupied 
us  during  the  evenings  of  a  long  winter,  perhaps,  more  agreeably 
than  the  discovery  of  the  mysteries  we  were  so  eagerly  inqui- 
ring into  would  have  done. 

My  sufferings,  however,  increased  to  such  a  pitch,  that  I 
thought  I  should  speedily  sink  under  them.  All  remedies  were 
ineffectual.  In  this  crisis  my  mother  implored  the  aid  of  our 
physician's  panacea.  After  a  long  resistance,  he  came  at  last, 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  bringing  a  crystallized  salt  in  a  little 
phial.  After  dissolving  it  in  water,  1  swallowed  it.  It  had  a 
strong  alkaline  taste.  Scarcely  had  I  taken  it  when  1  felt  myself 
relieved.  From  that  moment  my  disordergradually  diminished  ; 
and  1  recovered,  although  slowly.  I  cannot  describe  the  confi- 
dence this  happy  result  led  us  to  place  in  our  physician  ;  or  the 
desire  it  excited  in  us  to  attain  to  the  participation  of  this  inesti- 
mable treasure  with  him. 

We  set  to  work  :  we  were  perpetually  busy  in  the  midst  of  our 
matrasses,  alembics,  and  furnaces.  Our  books  and  our  worker 
of  miracles  directed  our  operations.  We  iaboured  incessantly 
to  master  the  rebellious  metal  iron  ;  the  combination  of  which, 
when  its  resistance  is  overcome  with  the  alkalis,  furnishes  the 
elements  of  that  mystical  neutral  salt,  celebrated  by  the  zealous 
advocates  of  the  philosopher's  stone.  By  dint  of  application 
1  at  length  became  dexterous  in  preparing  the  liquor  silicum. 

These  occupations,  fantastic  and  incoherent  as  they  were, 
procured  me  much  useful  knowledge.  I  initiated  myself  into 
the  mysteries  of  crystallization,  and  some  other  natural  sciences. 
I  wished  to  form  some  idea  of  the  recent  progress  of  chymistry, 
and  of  the  new  methods  ;  although,  as  a  demi-adept,  I  had  very 
little  respect  for  the  manipulations  of  the  sons  of  pharmacy,  or 
of  any  of  those  who  are  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  operating 
by  the  aid  of  common  fire.    Nevertheless,  Boerhaave's  Chymi- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


125 


cal  Abridgment  interested  me  strongly.  I  read  the  greater  part 
of  this  great  man's  works,  and  engra\ed  his  aphorisms  on  my 
mind. 

I  again  read  my  correspondence  with  my  sister,  written  whilst 
I  was  at  Leipsic,  in  which  1  found  grounds  of  encouragement. 
I  also  applied  once  more  to  drawing,  and  began  to  paint  all  the 
objects  that  surrounded  me  from  nature.  Morgen stern,  who 
was  then  celebrated,  and  whose  fame  has  since  been  increased 
by  his  views  of  churches,  gave  me  lessons  in  perspective.  I  re- 
sumed, also,  the  practice  of  engraving  with  no  less  ardour. 

In  reading  over  my  correspondence  with  my  sister,  I  remark- 
ed that  my  academical  studies  had  no  doubt  excited  a  high  notion 
of  my  progress  in  science  and  wisdom,  as  1  played  the  professor 
in  my  letters,  never  failing  to  repeat  to  Cornelia  the  lessons  and 
advice  of  Gellert,  without  considering  that  what  may  be  proper 
for  a  young  man  is  not  always  suitable  to  a  female.  We  both 
laughed  at  this  mimicry.  The  poems  I  had  composed  at  Leip- 
sic seemed  to  me,  on  examination,  dull,  cold,  spiritless,  and  su- 
perficially facile.  All  these  compositions  accordingly  became 
the  victims  of  a  new  auto-da-fé.  1  spared  only  two  :  "  A  Lover's 
Caprices,"  which  Behrisch  had  so  elegantly  copied  ;  and  "  The 
Accomplices,"  which  still  interested  me  much.  I  revised  it  care- 
fully. Lessing,  1  thought,  had  in  the  first  two  acts  of  his  Minna 
afforded  a  model  for  a  good  dramatic  style  ;  and  I  had  it  at  heart 
to  follow  him  as  closely  as  possible. 

1  have  dwelt  too  long  on  the  particulars  of  my  affections,  oc- 
cupations, and  objects  of  emulation,  during  the  interval  between 
my  two  academical  courses.  1  must,  however,  here  recall  the 
reader's  attention  for  a  moment  to  a  point  of  the  deepest  inter- 
est tome,— the  opinion  which  I  then  endeavoured  to  form,  if 
possible,  once  for  all,  of  the  objects  which  are  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  senses. 

A  book  had  fallen  into  my  hands  which  had  made  a  strong 
impression  on  my  mind.  This  was  Arnold's  History  of  the 
Church  and  of  Heresies.  The  author  is  not  only  a  historian 
who  leads  us  to  reflect,  but  a  pious  and  sensible  man.  His  view 
of  th;  gs  was  pretty  similar  to  my  own.  What  particularly 
pleased  me  in  his  work  was  his  having  given  me  a  better  idea  of 
several  heresiarchs,  who  had  always  been  described  to  me  as 
madmen  or  atheists.  Where  is  the  man  that  is  exempt  from  the 
spirit  of  contradiction,  and  the  love  of  paradox  ?  I  studied  the 
different  opinions  in  matters  of  religion  with  attention.  I  had 
often  heard  it  said  that  every  man  at  last  formed  an  opinion  of 
his  own.  It  therefore  seemed  to  me  perfectly  natural  for  me 
to  endeavour  to  form  mine.  I  applied  myself  to  this  occupation 
with  great  perseverance.  The  new  Platonism  furnished  the 
foundation  of  my  system.  My  hermetic,  mystical,  and  caba- 
listic researches  also  contributed,  each  in  its  way,  to  the  edifice 


196 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


of  my  doctrine  ;  and  I  thus  constructed  a  rather  singular  uni- 
verse. 

I  represented  the  Deity  to  myself  as  the  being  which  produ- 
ces itself  from  all  eternity.  But  the  idea  of  production  involves 
that  of  multiplicity.  God  was  therefore  to  manifest  himself  by 
a  second  mode  of  being,  which  we  adore  under  the  name  of  the 
Son.  These  two  modes  of  the  Divinity  continuing  to  repro- 
duce themselves,  manifest  themselves  again  in  a  third  form,  sub- 
stantial, living,  and  eternal,  like  the  whole.  This  is  the  Holy 
Ghost  :  and  in  this  circle  the  Divinity  is  contained.  His  om- 
nipotence cannot  go  so  far  as  to  produce  another  being  perfectly 
equal  to  himself.  Being  desirous,  however,  to  exercise  his 
power  by  a  new  production,  God  gives  life  to  a  fourth  being. 
But  this  being  is  in  contradiction  to  himself  as  soon  as  created  ; 
for  his  will  is  unbounded,  like  that  of  the  Almighty  ;  and  yet 
he  must  acknowledge  himself  the  work  of  the  Creator,  whose 
supreme  power,  which  he  cannot  attain,  he  must  adore.  This 
new  being  produced  by  the  Divine  Omnipotence,  is  Lucifer. 
At  his  birth  the  full  creative  power  was  transferred  to  him  ;  and 
all  that  was  to  arise  in  the  course  of  time  was  to  owe  its  exist- 
ence to  him.  Eager  to  exercise  his  infinite  activity,  he  created 
the  angels  in  his  image  ;  that  is  to  say,  with  an  unlimited  will, 
but  obliged  to  acknowledge  him  as  their  author,  and  subordinate 
to  his  power.  Surrounded  with  so  much  glory,  Lucifer  forgot 
his  celestial  origin,  and  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  self-ex- 
istent. From  this  first  act  of  ingratitude  all  disorder  arose  ;  that 
is  to  say,  all  that  appears  to  us  contrary  to  the  Divine  views  and 
will.  The  more  Lucifer  was  satisfied  with  himself,  the  more 
he  corrupted  himself  by  ingratitude  ;  and  the  more  he  corrupted, 
at  the  same  time,  all  those  intelligences  whom  he  prevented 
from  paying  the  homage  of  their  love  to  their  true  Creator. 
Thus  fell  the  angels,  as  we  learn  from  the  traditions  of  antiqui- 
ty. Some  attached  themselves  to  Lucifer  ;  others  returned  to 
the  Author  of  all  things.  All  that  had  been  created,  emanating 
directly  from  Lucifer,  was  naturally  inclined  to  attach  itself  to 
him.  The  adhesion  of  created  objects  to  this  prince  of  the  an- 
gels is  the  origin  of  all  that  appears  to  us  under  the  form  of  mat- 
ter— the  source  of  all  that  we  figure  to  ourselves  as  solid,  heavy, 
and  dark.  All  this  matter  proceeds  from  the  Supreme  Being 
only  by  filiation,  and  is  not  his  immediate  production.  It  never- 
theless participates  in  the  infinity  and  eternity  of  its  creators. 
But  as  all  evil  (since  it  must  be  named)  arises  from  Lucifer's 
resolution  to  separate  himself  from  God,  all  this  creation  wants 
the  better  part  of  itself;  for  it  possesses  nothing  but  what  it  can 
acquire  by  force  of  concentration,  and  by  operating  upon  itself, 
As  to  the  advantages  produced  by  the  force  of  expansion,  that 
generous  power  which  exhales  and  communicates  itself,  it  is  de- 
prived of  them.  Thus  continually  labouring  to  concentrate 
themselves,  created  object's  tended  to  their  own  destruction-^-to 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


127 


annihilate  themselves,  together  with  their  immediate  creator 
Lucifer.  They  were  thus  about  to  lose  all  their  claims  to  an 
eternity  equal  to  the  Divine  eternity.  Elohim  contemplated 
this  spectacle  for  some  time.  His  supreme  wisdom  gave  him 
the  choice  of  two  measures.  He  might  wait  until  the  unfortu- 
nate result  of  the  efforts  of  Lucifer  and  his  race  should  leave 
him  free  scope  for  a  new  creation  ;  or  he  might  possess  himself 
of  the  existing  creation,  and  correct  its  defects  by  his  infinite 
omnipotence.  The  Divine  will  etermined  on  the  latter  course, 
and  in  a  moment  repaired  all  the  disorder  which  Lucifer's  en- 
terprise had  caused.  It  restored  to  the  infini t)  of  beings  the 
faculty  to  extend  themselves  and  to  move  towards  it.  The  vital 
impulsion  was  re-established,  and  Lucifer  himself  could  not 
avoid  its  influence.  This  period  is  that  of  the  production  of 
what  we  call  light.  It  is  here  that  the  commencement  of  what 
we  are  accustomed  to  designate  by  the  word  creation  begins. 
The  power  of  life  exercised  by  Elohim  gradually  multiplied  and 
incessantly  varied  its  miracles.  Still  there  wanted  a  being  capa- 
ble of  renewing  the  primitive  union  with  the  Divinity  :  and  man 
was  instantly  created  for  this  purpose.  He  was  created  to  be 
like  God,  and  even  to  become  his  equal  ;  and  yet  his  nature  was 
similar  to  that  of  Lucifer — infinite  in  will,  limited  in  power. 
This  contradiction  manifested  itself  in  all  the  conditions  of  his 
existence  ;  and  at  the  same  time  a  perfect  knowledge  of  him- 
self, and  a  free  and  decisive  will,  were  given  to  him  to  direct  his 
conduct.  It  was  therefore  easy  to  foresee  that  he  would  be  at 
once  the  most  perfect  and  imperfect,  the  happiest  and  most 
wretched  of  creatures.  In  fact,  it  was  not  long  before  he  acted 
the  same  part  as  Lucifer.  To  separate  from  one's  benefactor 
is  the  true  character  of  ingratitude  ;  and  the  second  species  of 
intelligent  creatures  could  not  avoid  this  kind  of  degradation, 
forgetting  also  that  every  creation  is  but  an  emanation  from  its 
Author,  and  that  it  must  always  tend  towards  its  celestial  origin. 
It  thus  appears  that  redemption,  or  the  act  which  raises  the 
fallen  creature,  freeing  it  from  the  bonds  of  vice,  was  deter- 
mined on  from  all  eternity  ;  that  from  all  eternity  it  was  deemed 
necessary  ;  that  even  throughout  the  eternal  series  of  times  to 
come,  and  of  creatures  to  be  born,  the  periodical  necessity  of 
this  deliverance  will  always  arise  :  and  what,  then,  can  be  more 
natural  than  to  see  the  Divinity  put  on,  for  the  sake  of  accom- 
plishing this  generous  purpose,  the  covering  of  humanity  which 
it  may  be  said  to  have  prepared,  participate  for  a  time  in  the 
destiny  of  man,  and,  by  assimilating  itself  to  him,  to  ennoble  and 
exalt  his  joys,  and  mitigate  his  sorrows  ?  This  truth,  so  impor- 
tant and  necessary  to  the  human  species,  has  been  manifested  in 
all  nations  and  ages  under  a  thousand  different  forms.  Tradi- 
tions accommodated  to  the  weakness  of  their  reason  have  con- 
firmed it  even  in  singular  fables  and  allegories.  This  is  attested 
bv  the  history  of  every  religion,  and  the  doctrines  of  all  philoso- 


128 


3IEM01RS  OP  GOETHE. 


phers.  Let  us,  then,  become  sensible  of  our  real  situation — the 
lirst  and  essential  condition  of  our  existence.  Let  us  remember 
that  if,  on  the  one  hand,  our  nature  seems  to  hold  us  in  abase- 
ment, and  in  a  state  of  oppression,  it  opens  to  us,  on  the  other, 
a  way  to  raise  ourselves,  and  thus  to  accomplish  the  intentions 
of  the  Divinity  :  let  us  even  be  assured  that  our  nature  imposes 
this  upon  us  a  duty.  We  shall  fulfil  this  Divine  law,  if,  notwith- 
standing the  ascendency  of  our  nature,  which  inclines  us  to  sel- 
fishness, we  succeed  in  laying  aside  our  personality  in  order  to 
raise  ourselves,  by  regular  inspirations,  to  noble  and  generous 
sentiments. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

*5  It  is  by  frequently  touching  our  hearts  by  examples  of  the 
utility  of  the  virtues,  and  particularly  of  the  noble  and  social 
virtues,  that  the  tender  affections  are  excited  and  developed  in 
us.  Incidents  that  reveal  to  the  young  reader  the  secrets  and 
passions  of  the  human  heart,  instil  into  his  mind  a  knowledge  of 
far  greater  value  than  Greek  and  Latin  ;  a  knowledge  in  which 
Ovid  was  a  great  master.*  But  that  is  not  the  only  motive  for 
putting  Ovid  and  the  other  poets  of  antiquity  into  the  hands  of 
young  people.  We  owe  to  the  bounty  of  the  Creator  valuable 
faculties,  to  which  we  ought  not  to  fail  to  apply  the  culture  suit- 
able to  them  ;  and  it  is  not  by  the  help  of  logic,  metaphysics, 
Latin  or  Greek,  that  we  shall  attain  that  object.  Our  imagina- 
tion is  unable  to  seize  and  comprehend  the  beautiful  in  all  its  cha- 
racters of  truth  and  delicacy,  at  first  sight,  wherever  it  presents  it- 
self. The  young  must  be  accustomed  to  this  exercise,  by  present- 
ing to  them  the  pictures  best  calculated  to  form  their  discernment 
and  elevate  their  minds.  There  are  many  ideas  and  notions 
necessary  for  ordinary  life,  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  any 
treatise.  The  most  useful  thing  to  a  young  pupil  is  to  develope 
and  at  the  same  time  purify  his  sentiments,  inclinations,  and  even 
passions." 

These  strikingly  true  observations  are  taken  from  the  General 
German  Library.  The  editors  often  insist  upon  these  profound 
ideas.  These  truths,  confirmed  by  the  example  of  Wieland, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  young  folks  of  my  age.  It  was 
according  to  these  maxims  that  this  illustrious  man  conducted 

*  The  preference  here  given  to  Ovid  appears  singular.  The  German  writer 
quoted  by  Goëthe  may  undoubtedly  find  in  the  Metamorphoses,  the  Art  of  Love, 
and  the  Heroids  of  the  Roman  poet,  a  great  display  of  the  human  passions  ;  but  it 
would  be  difficult  to  discover,  unless  it  be  in  some  of  the  fables  of  the  Metamor- 
phoses, those  lessons  on  the  utility  of  the  noble  and  social  virtues  to  which  he  al- 
lude'.— En. 


MEMOIRS   ©P  GOETHE. 


himself  at  the  most  brilliant  period  of  his  literary  career.  The 
works  he  then  published  were  so  many  proofs  of  the  fidelity  with 
which  he  pursued  this  direction.  What  other  track  could  I, 
then,  from  that  time  forward,  follow  ?  1  had  laid  aside  philo- 
sophy and  her  abstract  researches.  1  laid  aside  the  ancient  lan- 
guages, the  deep  study  of  which  is  so  laborious.  The  certainty 
of  the  methods  used  in  the  sciences  appeared  to  me  more  and 
more  suspicious.  Every  thing,  therefore,  tended  to  bring  back 
my  attention  to  internal  life,  to  the  motions  of  the  soul,  and  to 
the  passions  whose  influence  I  experienced  or  anticipated.  This 
knowledge  seemed  to  me  the  most  essential  object,  and  the  most 
worthy  of  my  meditations.  In  this  I  saw  the  most  certain  means 
of  developing  my  intellectual  faculties  ;  nor  could  any  study  be 
more  suitable  to  my  feelings,  and  my  inclination  for  a  completely 
poetical  life.  The  failure  of  so  many  excellent  projects,  the 
evaporation  of  such  great  hopes,  made  me  readily  consent  to 
my  father's  scheme  of  sending  me  to  Strasburg.  I  promised 
myself  an  agreeable  life  there,  whilst  continuing  my  studies,  and 
endeavouring  to  quality  myself  to  take  my  degrees  in  jurispru- 
dence. 

In  the  spring  my  health  was  re-established.  I  felt  the  ardour 
peculiar  to  youth  revived  within  me.  1  therefore  left  the  pa- 
ternal roof  a  second  time,  with  far  other  intentions  than  those 
win  which  I  first  departed  from  it.  That  pretty  apartment,  in 
which  1  had  suffered  so  much,  was  now  thought  on  with  pain. 
The  thoughts  of  my  daily  communications  with  my  father  were 
equally  disagreeable.  1  was  grieved  to  think  that  during  my  re- 
lapse and  long  convalescence  he  had  shown  an  excessive  impa- 
tience ;  that,  instead  of  treating  me  with  consolatory  indulgence, 
he  had  behaved  harshly  towards  me,  as  if  it  had  been  in  my 
power  to  avoid  illness.  It  is  true  that  I  had  several  times 
offended  him  ;  1  had  ventured  to  find  fault  with  the  plan  accord- 
ing to  which  he  had  regulated  the  distribution  and  interior 
arrangement  of  our  house.  In  short,  my  departure  for  Strasburg 
was  accelerated  by  a  dispute  between  us,  to  which  my  indiscreet 
remarks  gave  rise. 

Scarcely  had  1  reached  Strasburg  when  1  ran  to  see  the  mag- 
nificent steeple.  I  soon  ascended  its  platform  ;  whence,  the  day 
being  fine,  1  had  a  clear  view  of  that  magnificent  country  which 
1  was  to  inhabit  for  so  long  a  period  ;  that  great  and  beautiful 
city,  and  those  meadows  which  surround  it,  studded  with  large 
and  umbrageous  trees.  To  the  very  horizon  I  observed  with 
admiration  the  rich  vegetation  that  embellishes  the  banks  and 
isles  of  the  Rhine  ;  the  sloping  plain  on  the  south  side,  watered 
by  the  «lier;  the  backgrounds,  formed  by  mountains  which 
charm  the  eye  by  an  agreeable  mixture  of  wood  and  cultivated 
lai  ds  ;  the  northern  hills,  intersected  by  a  multitude  of  little 
rivulets,  so  favourable  on  every  side  to  rapid  vegetation.  I  was 
delighted  to  see  the  excellent  cultivation  of  this  most  productive 


130 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE. 


country,  every  where  verdant,  every  where  promising  abundant 
harvests  ;  the  villages  and  farms  that  adorn  its  best  situations  ; 
— in  short,  that  immense  and  beautiful  plain,  prepared  like  a 
new  paradise  for  man,  strewed  with  pieasant  habitations,  and 
bounded  on  all  sides  by  richly  wooded  mountains.  In  the  height 
of  my  enthusiasm  I  blessed  Providence  tor  having  called  me.  for 
a  time,  to  the  enjoyment  of  so  charming  a  residence. 

The  first  aspect  of  a  country  one  is  destined  to  remain  in  is  a 
blank  to  the  imagination,  in  which  nothing  announces  distinctly 
either  pleasure  or  pain.  Those  smiling,  variegated,  animated 
plains  are  stiil  mute.  The  eye  observes  only  the  objects  them- 
selves, none  of  which  inspire  either  inclination  or  repugnance. 
Still  a  presentiment  of  the  future  agitates  the  young  spectator  ; 
and  he  imagines  he  perceives,  in  the  nature  of  the  country  he 
is  contemplating,  something  closely  connected  with  the  events 
which  are  there  to  sweeten  or  embitter  his  existence. 

I  took  some  small  but  well  situated  and  agreeable  apartments 
near  the  Fish  market  ;  a  long  and  handsome  street,  the  perpe- 
tual bustle  of  which  proved  a  recreation  to  me  in  my  idle  mo- 
ments. I  delivered  my  letters  of  recommendation.  I  agreed 
to  take  my  meals  at  a  boarding-house,  where  I  met  with  pleasant 
society.  At  Strasburg  they  do  not  proceed  as  in  the  German 
universities,  where  people  endeavour  to  attain  profound  erudi- 
tion in  every  part  of  the  science  of  laws.  Here,  according  to 
the  French  system,  they  especially  attended  to  the  practice. 
They  endeavoured  to  seize  a  few  general  principles  and  prelimi- 
nary notions  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  passed  on  to  the  know- 
ledge of  matters  of  ordinary  use.  A  private  master  in  great  re- 
pute was  recommended  to  me,  and  soon  acquired  my  confi- 
dence. I  had  learnt  nothing  thoroughly  during  my  residence  at 
Leipsic.  But  with  respect  to  the  science  of  laws,  I  possessed 
those  general  notions  which  are  so  easily  obtained  under  the  in- 
struction of  able  professors,  and  in  the  conversation  of  well-in- 
formed young  men.  The  display  of  these  superficial  attainments 
did  not,  however,  deceive  my  tutor.  He  gave  me  to  understand 
that  the  essential  object  was  to  filfil  the  end  for  which  I  came  ; 
that  is  to  say,  to  put  myself  in  a  co-ïdition  to  pass  an  examina- 
tion, that  1  might  take  my  degrees  and  proceed  to  practice. 
There  was,  therefore,  no  occasion  to  examine  into  the  origin  of 
laws,  nor  to  estimate  their  merits  ;  studies  in  which  learned  men 
consumed  their  whole  lives.  The  matter  was  to  gain  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  existing  laws,  in  order  to  make  use  of  them 
for  the  advantage  and  defence  of  our  clients  :  our  talents  and 
activity  would  in  time  do  the  rest.  He  therefore  gave  me  a 
bqok,  which  I  carefully  studied.  Accordingly  I  found  myself,  a 
shjûTt  time  afterwards,  in  some  measure  against  my  inclination, 
among  the  candidates  for  examination. 

But  the  species  of  activity  natural  to  my  character  was  far 
from  being  satisfied  with  this  kind  of  study.    I  had  no  taste  for 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


131 


any  thing  positive.  What  I  could  not  learn  according  to  the 
principles  of  reason,  Ï  wished,  at  least,  to  elucidate  by  history. 
A  more  extensive  scope  for  my  faculties  was  soon  afforded  me, 
in  which  I  made  some  progress,  in  a  singular  manner,  promoted 
by  the  interest  with  which  î  entered  into  it,  and  which  was  ex- 
cited by  an  unforeseen  circumstance. 

Most  of  my  table  companions  were  students  in  medicine. 
They  are  the  only  students,  as  is  well  known,  who  are  eagerly 
occupied  with  their  science,  even  after  the  hours  of  study.  This 
zeal  arises  from  the  very  nature  of  their  labours,  which,  at  once 
simple  and  complicated,  are  objects  of  sense,  and  nevertheless 
are  of  the  most  elevated  nature.  The  object  of  medicine  being 
the  whole  man,  occupies  man  entirely.  The  student  learns  to 
apply  his  science  in  difficult  circumstances,  and  often  in  perilous 
situations.  But  his  skill,  in  more  than  one  sense,  carries  its  re- 
ward with  it.  The  interest  which  he  takes  in  his  studies,  and 
the  prospect  of  independence  and  comfort  which  they  afford 
him,  induce  him  to  devote  himself  to  them  with  ardour. 

As  it  happened  before,  when  I  boarded  with  counsellor  Lud- 
wig,  I  heard  of  nothing  but  medicine  at  my  table  à? hôte.  When 
we  were  taking  a  walk,  or  engaged  in  a  party  of  pleasure,  it  was 
still  almost  the  only  subject  of  our  conversation  ;  for  my  table 
companions,  like  good  comrades,  were  almost  always  with  me 
wherever  I  went.  Other  students  joined  them  from  time  to  time. 
The  faculty  of  medicine  at  Strasburg  was  no  less  celebrated  for 
the  brilliant  reputation  of  its  professors,  than  for  the  affluence  of 
its  pupils.  I  had  sufficient  preliminary  notions  to  allow  my  zeal 
to  be  warmed  by  the  pleasure  of  more  extensive  instruction.  I 
therefore  attended  Spielmann's  course  of  chymistry,  and  Lob- 
stein's  of  anatomy.  The  degree  of  consideration  and  confi- 
dence which  i  had  acquired  in  our  society  by  my  superficial  at- 
tainments, likewise  tended  to  encourage  me. 

Nor  was  this  parcelling  out  of  my  studies  sufficient.  They 
were  soon  suspended  by  a  remarkable  event,  which  set  the 
whole  town  in  motion,  and  procured  us  several  days'  holidays. 
Marie- Antoinette,  Archdutchess  of  Austria,  afterwards  Queen  of 
France,  was  expected  at  Strasburg,  through  which  town  she  was 
to  pass  on  her  way  to  Paris.  The  solemnities  which  fix  the  at- 
tention of  the  populace  on  the  grandeurs  of  this  world  were 
hastily  prepared.  1  took  particular  notice  of  the  edifice  con- 
structed in  an  isle  in  the  Rhine,  between  the  two  bridges,  for  the 
reception  of  that  princess  ;  and  the  delivery  of  her  person  into 
the  hands  of  the  ambassador  of  the  King,  her  husband's  grand- 
father. This  edifice  was  not  very  high.  In  the  middle  was  a 
large  room,  adjoining  on  each  side  to  a  smaller  one  ;  and  both 
led  to  several  lesser  chambers.  Had  this  building  been  more 
durable,  it  might  have  served  for  a  place  of  recreation  to  emi- 
nent persons.  But  what  most  interested  me,  and  cost  me  some 
money,  which  I  did  not  spare  in  order  to  obtain  the  porter'* 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


leave  to  return,  was  the  tapestries  from  the  Gobelins,  with  which 
the  inside  of  the  apartment  was  decorated.  I  then,  for  the  first 
time,  saw  those  famous  tapestries  executed  after  the  cartoons  of 
Raphaël.  Although  they  were  only  copies,  they  gave  me  an 
idea  of  the  regularity  and  perfection  of  the  originals,  1  after- 
wards viewed  these  fine  works  several  times,  and  still  thought  I 
had  not  seen  enough  of  them.  But  the  decoration  of  the  grand 
hall  displeased  me,  as  much  as  these  tapestries  delighted  me.  It 
was  adorned  with  much  larger,  more  brilliant,  and  richer  tapes- 
tries than  the  other,  executed  after  pictures  by  the  French  art- 
ists of  that  period. 

I  should  in  all  probability  have  seen  something  to  admire  in 
the  style  of  these  artists  ;  for  neither  my  judgment  nor  my  ima- 
gination were  inclined  to  exclusive  prejudices.  But  the  subject 
of  these  paintings  shocked  me.  It  was  no  other  than  the  history 
of  Jason,  Medea,  and  Creusa;  that  is  to  say.  the  picture  of  the 
most  disastrous  of  all  marriages.  To  the  left  of  the  throne  was 
seen  the  unfortunate  bride,  expiring  in  the  agonies  of  the  most 
cruel  death.  To  the  right  was  the  distracted  Jason,  deploring 
the  death  of  his  children,  who  lay  dead  at  his  feet  ;  whilst  the 
Fury  who  had  destroyed  them  fled  through  the  air  in  her  car 
drawn  by  dragons. 

All  the  maxims  of  taste  which  I  had  imbibed  from  Oëser  were 
fermenting  in  my  head.  The  placing  of  Christ  and  his  apostles 
in  one  of  the  apartments  of  an  edifice  devoted  to  a  nuptial  cere- 
mony, was  a  breach  of  propriety  in  my  estimation.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  but  that  this  singular  choice  had  been  dictated  solely 
by  the  size  of  the  room.  1  excused  this,  however,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  pleasure  I  had  received  from  the  tapestries,  But 
the  enormous  blunder  committed  in  the  principal  room  quite  as- 
tonished me.  1  loudly  called  on  my  companions  to  witness  this 
flagrant  attack  on  good  sense  and  taste.  "  What  !"  1  exclaim- 
ed, regardless  of  the  bystanders,  u  will  they  actually  set  before 
the  eyes  of  the  young  Queen,  at  the  very  first  step  she  makes  in 
her  new  dominions,  the  representation  of  the  most  horrible  of 
marriages  ?  Is  there  nobody  among  the  French  architects  and 
decorators  able  to  understand  that  a  picture  is  a  representation  ; 
that  it  acts  on  the  senses  and  the  mind  ;  that  it  must  produce  an 
impression  ;  that  it  excites  presentiments  ?  Had  they  nothing 
more  appropriate  than  these  frightful  spectres  to  exhibit  to  their 
beautiful  and  amiable  Queen  on  her  first  arrival  ?"  I  know  not 
how  much  more  f  said  ;  but  my  friends  were  anxious  to  prevail 
on  me  to  be  silent,  and  to  hurry  me  away,  for  fear  of  some  un- 
pleasant occurrence.  They  assured  me  that  people  did  not 
lose  their  time  in  looking  for  the  meaning  of  pictures  ;  and  that 
nobody  in  the  whole  population  of  Strasburg  and  its  vicinity, 
nor  even  the  Queen  herself,  or  her  court,  would  think  of  any 
such  matter. 

I  still  well  remember  the  beautiful  and  noble  countenance. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHL.  l&j 

the  gay,  yet  majestic  air,  of  this  young  princess.  We  saw  her 
ver)  plainly  through  the  glasses  of  her  coach.  She  seemed  to 
be  conversing  in  a  very  affable  manner  with  the  ladies  who  ac- 
companied her,  and  to  be  much  amused  with  the  sight  of  the 
crowd  which  thronged  around  her. 

The  Queen  pursued  her  way.  The  crowd  dispersed,  and  the 
town  resumed  its  usual  tranquillity.  Before  the  princess  arrived, 
a  proclamât  ion  had  been  published,  forbidding  every  person 
afflicted  with  any  disgusting  disorder  to  appear  on  her  way. 
This  excited  several  jests.  I  composed  some  French  verses,  in 
which  I  drew  a  comparison  between  the  coming  of  Christ,  who 
seemed  to  attend  particularly  to  the  sick  and  infirm,  and  that  of 
the  Queeu,  who  appeared  to  dread  the  sight  of  these  unfortunate 
people.  This  poeticai  trifle  was  pretty  well  received  among 
my  friends.  But  a  Frenchman  who  lived  with  us  criticised  its 
diction  and  prosody  without  mercy  ;  although  not  without  reason, 
as  it  appeared.  I  believe  I  never  afterward  composed  any  thing 
in  French  verse. 

Scarcely  had  the  echo  of  the  news  of  the  Queen's  arrival  in 
the  capital  ceased  to  resound,  when  we  were  thunderstruck  by 
the  report  of  the  dreadful  event  which  had  attended  her  mar- 
riage fêtes.  Owing  to  the  neglect  of  the  police,  a  multitude  of 
men,  horses,  and  carnages  had  been  precipitated  among  heaps 
of  building  materials  which  encumbered  the  public  road  ;  and 
these  royal  nuptials  had  plunged  the  whole  city  in  mourning  and 
affliction.  Every  endeavour  was  used  to  conceal  the  real  extent 
of  this  disaster  from  the  world  and  from  the  royal  couple. 
Numbers  of  individuals  who  had  perished  were  secretly  interred. 
Many  families  were  only  convinced  o;  their  share  in  this  fatal 
event  by  the  indefinitely  prolonged  absence  of  their  relations. 
Need  I  say  that  this  disaster  forcibly  reminded  me  of  the  terrific 
images  which  had  been  presented  to  the  Queen  in  her  grand 
drawing-room  at  Strasburg. 

An  ill-timed  jest  that  1  had  indulged  in  had  nearly  caused  my 
parents  the  most  serious  alarm.  !  had  addressed  a  letter  dated 
from  Versailles  to  one  of  my  young  friends  at  Frankfort,  giving 
him  an  account  of  the  solemnities  of  the  time.  He  believed 
that  !  was  at  Paris  at  the  fatal  period,  and  dreaded  to  hear  that 
I  had  been  involved  in  the  terrible  catastrophe.  Fortunately 
my  parents  received  a  letter  from  me  before  they  heard  of  the 
sad  conjectures  which  he  imparted  to  some  of  our  mutual  friends. 
1  swore  to  renounce  mystification  for  ever.  But  I  have  not 
kept  my  word  very  strictly.  Real  life  would  often  be  almost 
intolerable,  but  for  the  help  of  a  little  fiction  and  pleasantry. 

The  Strasburgers  are  passionately  addicted  to  taking  walks  ; 
and  it  is  no  wonder  they  are  so.  To  whatever  side  you  direct 
your  steps,  you  meet  with  charming  spots  embellished  by  nature 
or  by  art,  to  which  you  see  a  gay  and  pleasure-loving  people 
flocking.    It  is  here,  above  all  other  places,  that  the  variety  of 


Î34 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE'. 


costumes  worn  by  the  women  attracts  the  gaze  of  the  crowd. 
The  young  girls  of  the  middle  class  wore,  at  this  period,  their 
hair  turned  up  in  tresses,  and  fixed  with  a  great  pin,  with  the 
close  dress  which  so  agreeably  clings  to  the  form.  \  his  dres9 
was  even  worn  by  many  women  without  distinction  of  class  or 
condition  :  and  many  rich  and  respectable  families  would  not 
allow  their  daughters  to  wear  any  other.  I  he  rest  of  the  Stras- 
burg  women  had  adopied  the  French  fashions  ;  and  the  number 
of  these  new  proselytes  daily  increased.  My  friends  and  I  had 
introduced  ourselves  to  several  of  the  inhabitants,  who  received 
us  extremely  well  a'  their  gardens  and  country -houses.  There 
we  used  to  amuse  ourselves  in  walking,  conversing,  and  playing. 
1  now  learned  to  play  at  cards,  of  which  diversion  I  perceived 
the  utility.  It  is  a  preservative  against  ennui,  calumny,  and  ill- 
natured  observations,  the  too  frequent  attendants  on  conversa- 
tions ;  which,  when  too  far  prolonged,  are  apt  to  degenerate  into 
disputes  or  nonsense.  Our  table  society  was  increased.  Among 
the  new  guests  I  had  particularly  noticed  Jung,  afterward  known 
under  the  name  of  Stilling^  and  Lerse.  The  first  possessed 
much  good  sense  and  industry.  The  basis  of  his  energy  was  a 
firm  faith  in  God,  his  providence,  its  continual  superintendence 
over  his  creatures,  and  the  aid  that  may  be  expected  from  it  in 
all  dangers  :  in  his  agitated  and  restless  life  he  had  so  often  ex- 
perienced the  Divine  protection,  that  he  was  inaccessible  to  fear 
or  anxiety.  Lerse  belonged  to  that  class  of  faithful  Christians, 
whose  religion  rests  chiefly  on  reason,  and  on  the  masculine  in- 
dependence of  a  firm  and  upright  character  ;  and  who  consider 
sentiment  too  apt  to  mislead.  Order  and  exactness  were  the 
distinguishing  features  of  his  moral  physiognomy.  He  never 
forgot  to  mark  his  napkin,  nor  to  scold  the  servant  if  the  chairs 
were  not  well  cleaned.  A  slight  tinge  of  irony  mingled  in  all 
his  discourse.  He  was  at  once  our  master  of  the  ceremonies, 
our  master  at  arms,  and  the  sovereign  arbitrator  of  our  quarrels  ; 
which  he  always  contrived  to  pacify,  even  when  they  had  gone 
so  far  as  a  meeting.  I  had  this  young  man,  thus  skilled  to  com- 
bine an  amiable  deportment  with  gravity,  in  my  mind,  when  I 
composed  Goetz  Von  Berlichingen.  Anxious  to  consecrate  our 
friendship  by  a  public  testimony  of  my  esteem,  I  gave  the  name 
of  Francis  Lerse  to  the  personage  in  my  piece  who  is  so  remark- 
able for  uniting  personal  dignity  with  subordination. 

Whilst  this  Mentor  with  his  ironical  phlegm  taught  us  the  es- 
sential art  of  preserving  this  dignity,  without  wounding  that  of 
others,  and  of  remaining,  as  far  as  possible,  in  peace  with  the 
world,  by  maintaining  a  becoming  attitude  in  it,  1  had  to  contend 
with  difficulties  of  another  species.  My  health  was  tolerably 
good  ;  but  a  nervous  irritability  rendered  me  unable  to  endure 
the  noise  and  sight  of  infirmities  and  sufferings.  1  could  not 
stand  on  an  elevation  and  look  downwards  without  feeling  a 
vertigo.    I  accustomed  myself  to  noise  by  taking  my  station,  at 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


185 


night,  near  the  trumpets  that  sounded  the  retreat,  at  the  risk  of 
having  my  tympanum  cracked  by  their  loud  braying.  To  cure 
myself  of  giddiness,  I  often  ascended  to  the  top  of  the  Minster 
tower  alone.  1  used  to  remain  a  quarter  of  an  hour  sitting  on 
the  stairs  before  I  d  ;rst  venture  out.  I  then  advanced  on  a 
small  platform,  scarcely  an  ell  square,  without  any  rail  or  sup- 
port. Before  me  was  an  immense  extent  of  country,  whilst  the 
objects  nearest  to  the  Minster  concealed  from  my  sight  the  church 
and  the  monument  on  which  i  was  perched.  1  was  precisely  in 
the  situation  of  a  man  launched  into  mid  air  in  a  balloon.  I 
repeated  the  experiment  of  this  painful  situation,  until  at  length 
it  gave  me  no  sensation  at  all.  Of  the  utility  of  these  trials  I 
was  afterwards  fuily  sensible,  when  the  study  of  geology  led  me 
to  traverse  mountains.  When  I  had  to  visit  great  buildings,  I 
could  stand  with  the  workmen  upon  the  scaffolds  or  the  roofs. 
These  habits  were  no  less  useful  to  me  at  Rome,  when  )  wished 
to  examine  the  celebrated  monuments  of  that  city  closely.  In 
studying  anatomy,  1  learned  to  endure  the  sight  of  those  objects 
which  at  first  shocked  me  most.  I  attended  a  course  of  clinical 
lectures  and  a  course  on  midwifery,  with  the  twofold  intention  of 
gaining  an  increase  of  knowledge,  and  of  freeing  myself  from  all 
pusillanimous  repugnance  On  the  whole,  I  succeeded  in  forti- 
fying myself  against  all  those  impressions  of  the  senses  and  ima- 
gination which  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  the  soul.  Dark  and 
lonely  places  no  longer  caused  me  any  emotion.  Whilst  I  was 
going  through  these  physical  trials,  my  mind  was  not  unoccu- 
pied. Every  one  knows  that  there  is  no  readier  way  to  get  rid 
of  the  co  .sc  iousness  of  our  own  faults,  than  to  busy  ourselves 
about  those  of  other  people  This  is  a  method  much  in  vogue 
in  the  best  company.  But  nothing  gives  us  so  strong  a  ser.se  of 
our  independence,  or  makes  us  so  important  in  our  own  eyes,  as 
the  censure  of  our  superiors  and  of  the  great  of  this  world. 

Whoever  remembers  the  situation  in  which  France  stood  at 
the  period  of  wh  ch  1  am  treating,  may  easily  conceive  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  King,  his  ministers,  his  court,  and  favourites, 
were  spoken  of  in  Alsace,  a  province  that  was  but  half  French. 
All  the  anecdotes  I  heard  related,  exclusive  of  the  falsehoods 
that  were  minted  with  them,  afforded  me  information  and  plea- 
sure ;  and  I  preserved  notes  of  them,  which  are  not  uninterest- 
ing. Another  object  of  our  pleasantries  was  the  plan  formed 
by  the  intendant  Gayot  for  the  embellishment  of  the  city,  and 
the  regulation  and  enlargement  of  its  crooked  and  unequal 
streets.  The  architect  Bloudel  had  drawn  up  a  fine  plan,  which 
was  favoured  by  those  who  we»e  likely  to  gain  by  the  proposed 
changes  ;  and,  of  course,  opposed  by  those  who  exp.  cted  to  be 
losers.  This  struggle  incessantly  impeded  the  execution  of  the 
plan.  In  one  place  they  be^an  to  pull  down  ;  in  another  they 
would  neither  repair  nor  rebuild  a  con-  emned  house  ;  at  a  third 
spot  the  demolitions  were  opposed.    The  public  authorities 


Ï36 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


durst  not  resort  to  compulsion.  Thus  the  city  was  in  a  kind  of 
chaos,  and  was  losing  its  old  form  without  receiving  a  new 
one. 

Another  event  which  occupied  the  attention  of  the  Protest- 
ants of  Strasburg  was  the  expulsion  of  the  Jesuits.  These  good 
fathers  bad  sudden  y  appeared  in  the  city  at  the  moment  of  its 
annexation  to  Prance,  and  had  lo^t  no'  time  in  securing  them- 
selves an  establishment  there.  They  soon  contrived  to  aggran- 
dize themselves.  They  had  had  a  magnificent  college  erected, 
so  close  to  the  Minster  that  the  back  of  the  church  was  con- 
cealed b)  one  of  the  sides  o  their  building.  This  edifice  was 
intended  to  have  (bur  faces  with  a  garden  in  the  middle  ;  but 
only  three  of  them  had  been  erect,  d.  !t  was  a  *tone  building, 
and  solid,  like  all  the  erections  built  by  these  fathers.  To  press 
hard  upon  the  Protestants,  if  it  could  not  stifle  them,  was  the 
plan  o!  the  society,  which  was  ambitious  to  restore  the  old  reli- 
gion in  all  its  primitive  splendour.  The  fail  of  the  Jesuits  ex- 
cited the  most  lively  joy  in  their  adversaries,  who  congratulated 
each  other  on  seeing  their  wines  exposed  to  sale,  their  library 
dispersed,  and  their  college  devoted  to  another  reiigious  order, 
which,  it  was  thought,  would  certainly   e  less  enterprising. 

In  every  town  there  must  always  be  a  tragical  event  to  oc- 
cupy people's  minds,  and  produce  a  stro  g  emotion.  The  city 
of  Slrasburg  found  such  an  event  in  the  catastr  phe  of  its  unfor- 
tunate pretor  Kingling.  This  man  had  reached  the  highest  de- 
gree of  earthly  felicity.  His  power  over  the  city  and  country 
was  almost  unlimited.  He  enjoyed  all  the  advantages  that  for- 
tune, rauk,  and  great  influence  can  bestow.  But  in  losing  the 
favour  of  the  court  he  lost  every  thing.  He  was  accused  as  a 
criminal  for  all  that  he  had  previously  done  by  the  consent  of 
authority.  He  was  imprisoned  ;  and  terminated  his  days  in 
conii.:ement  by  an  equivocal  death,  at  more  than  seventy  years 
of  age. 

Our  table  was  frequented  by  a  chevalier  of  Saint  Louis,  who 
was  always  ready  to  relate  anecdotes  of  this  kind.  His  narra- 
tions were  lively  and  spirited.  The  interest  I  took  in  them 
sometimes  induced  me  to  accompany  him  in  his  walks  :  the  rest 
of  the  company  avoided  him,  and  allowed  me  to  go  with  him 
alone.  I  often  neglected,  for  a  long  time,  to  consider  the  cha- 
racter of  my  new  acquaintances,  or  the  effect  they  produced  on 
me.  Nevertheless  I  perceived,  by  degrees,  that  the  stories  of 
my  companion  served  rather  to  disquiet  and  per  lex  than  to  in- 
struct me.  !  knew  not  to  what  cause  to  ascribe  these  impres- 
sions, although  the  enigma  was  not  very  difficult  of  solution. 
This  man  belonged  to  the  very  numerous  class  of  those  who 
live  to  no  purpose.  He  had  a  decided  taste,  an  absolute  pas- 
sion for  reverie  ;  but  no  talents  for  reflection.  Men  of  this 
character  readily  attach  themselves  to  one  idea,  which  is  truly 
a  moral  malady.    This  was  his  case,  and  carried  to  a  most 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


Î37 


troublesome  extreme.  His  whim  was  to  bç  perpetually  com- 
plaining of  his  want  of  memory,  particularly  with  respect  to  the 
most  recent  events  ;  and  to  maintain  that  all  virtue  was  the  ef- 
fect of  a  good  memory,  and  all  vice  of  a  bad  one.  This  thesis 
he  defended  with  much  ingenuity  ;  which  is  a  very  easy  matter 
when  people  deviate  from  the  fixed  sense  of  words,  and  pervert 
them  from  their  natural  signification,  to  accommodate  them  to 
the  object  in  view. 

In  one  of  our  walks  we  met  with  an  old  beggar-woman,  whose 
importunities  made  my  companion  lose  the  thread  of  one  of  his 
stories  :  "  Hold  your  tongue,  you  old  witch,  and  leave  us*,'7  said 
he. — "  Old  !"  replied  she  :  "  if  you  did  not.  mean  to  grow  old 
yourself,  you  should  have  got  hanged  whilst  you  were  young." 
"  Hanged  L"  cried  he,  turning  back  sharply  ;  "  hanged  !  I  was  too 
honest'for  that.  But  1  ought  to  have  hanged  myself,  or  blown 
my  brains  out.  I  should  not,  in  that  case,  have  been  living  now 
to  be  good  for  nothing."  The  old  woman  stood  motionless. 
He  continued,  "  You  have  told  a  great  (ruth,  you  mother  of 
witches  ;  and  as  you  have  hitherto  escaped  strangling  and  burn- 
ing, I  must  pay  you  for  it."  With  these  words  he  gave  her  a 
piece  of  money  that  is  seldom  given  to- mendicants. 

We  had  reached  the  first  bridge  across  the  Rhine,  and  I  was 
endeavouring  to  renew  the  conversation,  when  we  suddenly  saw 
a  very  pretty  girl  advancing  towards  us,  who  stopped  on  meeting 
us,  and  curtsied  politely.  "  What!  captain,"  cried  she,  "  don't 
you  recollect  me  ?"  "  Indeed,  mademoiselle," — replied  the  che- 
valier, somewhat  embarrassed. — "  How  !"  said  the  young  ladyr 
in  a  tone  which  expressed  both  good- will  and  surprise,  "do  you 
so  soon  forget  your  friends  ?"  This  word  '  forget'  irritated  him. 
He  shook  his  head,  and  replied  rather  drily  : — "  Really,  made- 
moiselle, I  did  not  think  myself  one  of  yours." — "  Look  to  it, 
captain,"  replied  she,  with  some  acrimony,  but  at  the  same 
time  in  a  very  deliberate  manner  :  "  another  time  I  may  very 
possibly  not  know  you."  She  then  rapidly  passed  by  us.  My 
companion,  striking  his  head  with  his  fist,  began  to  curse  his  want 
of  memory.  He  never  failed,  he  said,  to  salute  a  woman  who 
was  neither  young  nor  pretty,  because  he  remembered  her  a 
lovely  woman  thirty  years  ago  ;  and  now  he  was  offending  a 
pretty  young  girl,  who  had  probably  appeared  to  him  equally 
amiable  a  few  days  before.  "  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "  ingratitude 
is  the  greatest  of  vices  ;  and  no  one  would  be  ungrateful,  if  his 
memory  were  always  good." 

On  returning  to  our  inn  we  met  with  a  young  man,  whom  the 
chevalier  saluted  and  called  by  his  name.  He  had  already  men- 
tioned him  to  me  in  highly  favourable  terms  ;  and  had  told  me 
that  this  young  man,  who  was  employed  in  the  war-office,  had 
assisted  him  in  the  most  disinterested  manner  to  obtain  his  pen- 
sion. Conversation  commenced  on  general  matters,  and  we 
peaceablv  emptied  a  flagon  of  wine,  when  a  new  fancy  of  our 

S 


Alfc&lOlRô  OF  GOETHE. 


chevalier's  gave  us  another  specimen  of  his  eccentricity.  Cast- 
ing his  eyes  around,  he  perceived  on  the  table  a  double  portion 
of  coffee  and  two  cups.  He  thence  concluded  that  the  young 
man  had  not  been  alone  before  we  came  in  ;  and  at  length  con- 
trived to  persuade  himself  that  the  pretty  girl  we  had  met,  had 
been  in  bis  company.  I  lis  original  vexation  being  now  increased 
by  a  most  unaccountable  tit  of  jealousy,  he  was  completely  be- 
side himself. 

lie  began  by  rallying  the  young  man,  who,  like  a  well-bred 
youth,  endeavoured  to  defend  himself  with  good-humour  and 
spirit.  But  our  chevalier  continuing  his  attacks,  and  proceed- 
ing beyond  the  bounds  of  civility,  the  other  had  no  alternative 
but  to  withdraw;  which  he  did,  intimating  clearly  the  kind  of 
satisfaction  he  thought  himself  entitled  to  demand.  The  cap- 
tain's fury  then  burst  forth,  its  energy  being  increased  by  the 
operation  of  the  flagon  of  wine,  which  he  had  himself  emptied  du- 
ring this  scene.  He  breathed  nothing  but  blood  and  vengeance. 
But  presentlv  the  disposition  of  his  mind  changed  on  a  sudden, 
without  any  diminution  of  its  violence.  1  represented  to  him 
his  ingratitude  to  the  young  clerk,  whose  conduct  towards  him 
he  had  praised  so  highly  to  me.  Never  did  I  see  a  man  so  furi- 
ously enraged  against  himself  as  the  chevalier  now  appeared. 
The  expression  of  his  excessive  remorse  was  quite  caricatured. 
But  as  passion  always  awakens  genius,  the  explosion  of  his  was 
truly  original.  He  recapitulated  all  the  events  of  the  evening, 
and  with  great  eloquence  converted  them  into  so  many  accusa- 
tions against  himself,  and  at  length  grew  so  violent  that  I  was 
fearful  he  would  go  an'!  throw  himself  into  the  Rhine.  Had  I 
been  certain  of  fishing  him  up  again  asquicklv  as  Mentor  caught 
Telemachus,  1  would  have  allowed  him  to  make  the  perilous 
leap,  and  1  should  have  carried  him  home  sufficiently  cooled,  at 
least,  for  this  time. 

1  confided  the  affair  to  Lerse.  The  following  morning  we 
went  together  to  hud  out  the  young  clerk.  We  arranged  a  sort 
of  meeting  in  which  every  thing  was  to  be  amicably  settled. 
The  most  amusing  part  of  the  affair  was  that  the  captain,  in  his 
sleep,  had  totally  forgotten  his  rudeness.  We  found  him.  how- 
ever, very  ready  to  make  an  apology  to  the  young  man  ;  and  the 
latter  having  no  inclination  to  push  the  matter  farther,  all  was 
made  up  in  the  course  of  the  morning.  The  affair,  however, 
had  not  remained  perfectly  unknown  ;  and  the  jests  of  my  friends 
un  the  occasion  made  me  sensible  of  the  great  possibility  there 
was  that  the  captain's  acquaintance  might  prove  troublesome 
to  me. 

I  often  amused  myself  with  a  visit  to  the  Minster  ;  and  be- 
coming more  and  more  sensible  of  the  combination  of  two  qua- 
lities in  this  edifice  which  seemed  incompatible  with  each  other. 
— that  is  to  say,  the  grand  and  the  agreeable, — I  began  to  study 
the  building.  The  result  of  my  researches  was  the  conviction  tha4; 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


13!) 


our  country  was  entitled  to  claim  the  beauties  of  this  astonishing 
building;  and  that  what  is  improperly  called  Gothic  architec- 
ture was  an  art  which  originated  in  Germany.  I  composed  a 
short  dissertation  to  establish  the  claims  of  our  country  to  this 
honour,  and  Herder  inserted  in  it  his  work  on  the  productions  ot' 
art  in  Germany. 

Whilst  I  thus  employed  myself  in  various  studies  and  re- 
searches, I  did  not  neglect  the  pleasures  incident  to  youth.  At 
Strasburg  every  day  and  hour  offers  to  sight  the  magnificent  mo- 
nument of  the  Minster,  and  to  the  ear  the  music  and  movements 
of  the  dance.  My  father  himself  had  given  my  sister  and  me 
our  first  lessons  in  this  art.  We  had  learnt  the  grave  minuet 
from  him.  The  solos  and  pas  de-deux  of  the  French  theatre, 
whilst  it  was  with  usât  Frankfort,  had  given  me  a  greater  relish  for 
the  pleasures  of  dancing.  But  from  the  unfortunate  termination 
of  my  love  affair  with  Margaret,  I  had  entirely  neglected  it. 
This  taste  revived  in  me  at  Strasburg.  On  Sundays  and  holi- 
days joyous  troops,  met  for  the  purpose  of  dancing,  were  to  b<* 
seen  in  all  directions.  There  were  little  bails  in  all  the  coun- 
try-houses, and  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  brilliant  routs  ex- 
pected in  the  winter,  1  was  therefore  apprehensive  of  finding 
myself  out  of  my  element  in  company,  unless  I  qualified  myself 
to  figure  as  a  dancer;  and  I  accordingly  took  lessons  of  a  mas- 
ter recommended  by  one  of  my  friends.  He  was  a  true  French 
character,  cold  and  polished.  He  taught  with  care,  but  without 
pedantry.  As  I  had  already  had  some  practice,  he  was  not  dis- 
satisfied with  me. 

He  had  two  daughters  who  were  both  pretty,  and  the  elder  of 
whom  was  not  twenty.  They  were  both  gooJ  dancers.  This 
circumstance  greatly  facilitated  my  progress,  for  the  awkwardeèt 
scholar  in  the  world  must  soon  have  become  a  passable  dancer 
with  such  agreeable  partners.  They  were  both  extremely  ami- 
ahle  ;  they  spoke  only  French.  J  endeavoured  to  appear  nei- 
ther awkward  nor  ridiculous  to  them,  and  1  had  the  good  fortune 
to  please  them.  Their  father  did  not  seem  to  have  many  scho- 
lars, and  they  lived  very  much  alone.  They  several  times  asked 
me  to  stay  and  converse  after  my  lesson,  which  I  very  readily 
did.  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  younger  one  :  the  manners 
of  both  were  very  becoming  :  the  elder,  who  was  at  least  as 
handsome  as  her  sister,  did  not  please  me  so  much,  although  she 
took  more  pains  to  do  so.  At  the  hour  of  my  lesson  she  was 
always  ready  to  be  my  partner,  and  she  frequently  prolonged 
the  dance.  The  younger,  although  she  behaved  in  a  friendly 
manner  towards  me,  kept  a  greater  distance,  and  her  father  had 
to  call  her  to  take  her  sister's  place. 

One  evening  after  the  dance,  1  was  going  to  lead  the  elder  to 
their  apartment,  but  she  detained  me.  k;  Let  us  stay  here 
awhile,"  said  she  :  H  my  sister,  I  must  own  to  you,  is  at  this 
moment  engaged  with  a  fortune-teller,  who  is  giving  her  some  in- 


140 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


lelligence  from  the  cards  respecting  an  absent  lover,  a  youth  ex- 
tremely  attached  to  Emily,  and  in  whom  all  her  hopes  are 
placed.  My  heart,"  continued  she,  "  is  free  :  I  suppose  I  shall 
often  see  the  gift  of  it  despised."  On  this  subject  I  paid  her 
some  compliments.  u  You  may,"  said  I,  4>  consult  the  oracle, 
and  then  you  will  know  what  to  expect.  "  I  have  a  mind  to 
consult  it  likewise  :  I  shall  be  glad  to  ascertain  the  merit  of  an 
art  in  which  1  have  never  had  much  confidence."  As  soon  as 
she  assured  me  the  operation  was  ended,  1  led  her  into  the  room, 
We  found  her  sister  in  tiood  humour  ;  she  behaved  to  me  in  a 
more  friendly  manner  than  usual.  Sure,  as  she  seemed  to  be 
of  her  absent  lover,  she  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  showing 
some  attentions  to  her  sister's,  for  in  that  light  she  regarded  me. 

I  engaged  the  fortune-teller,  by  the  promise  of  a  handsome 
recompense,  to  tell  the  elder  of  the  young  ladies  and  me  our 
fortunes  also.  After  all  the  usual  preparations  and  ceremonies, 
she  shuffled  the  cards  for  this  beautiful  girl  ;  but  having  carefully 
examined  them,  she  stopped  short  and  refused  to  explain  her- 
self. <;  1  see  plainly,"  said  the  younger  of  the  girls,  who  was 
already  partially  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  this  kind  of  ma- 
gic, "  there  is  something  unpleasant  which  you  hesitate  to  tell  my 
sister."  The  other  sister  turned  pale,  but  recovering  herself, 
entreated  the  sibyl  to  tell  her  all  she  had  seen  in  the  cards  with- 
out reserve.  The  latter,  after  a  deep  sigh,  told  her  that  she 
loved,  but  was  not  beloved  in  return  ;  that  a  third  person  stood 
between  her  and  her  beloved  ;  with  several  other  tales  of  the 
same  kind.  The  embarrassment  of  the  poor  girl  was  visible. 
i;  Let  us  see  whether  a  second  trial  will  be  more  fortunate,"  said 
the  old  woman,  again  shuffling  and  cutting  the  cards  ;  but  it  was 
still  worse  this  time.  She  wished  to  make  a  third  trial,  in  the 
hopes  of  better  success  ;  but  the  inquisitive  fair  one  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Her  beautiful  bo- 
som was  violently  agitated,  she  turned  her  back  oh  us,  and  ran 
into  the  next  room.  1  knew  not  what  to  do  ;  inclination  retained 
me  with  her  sister  ;  compassion  urged  me  to  follow  the  afflicted 
one.  "  Console  Lucinda,"  said  the  former,  "go  to  her." — 
"  How  can  I  console  her,"  said  1,  44  without  showing  her  the  least 
signs  of  attachment?  1  should  be  cold  and  reserved.  Is  this  the  mo- 
ment to  be  so  ?  Come  with  me  yourself." — 64  I  know  not,"  re- 
plied Emily,  "  whether  my  presence  would  be  agreeable  to  her." 
We  were,  however,  going  in  to  speak  to  her,  but  we  found  the 
door  bolted.  In  vain  we  knocked,  called,  and  entreated  Lucin- 
da ;  no  answer.  "  Let  us  leave  her  to  recover  herself,"  said 
Emily,  "she  will  see  no  one."  What  could  1  do  ?  I  paid  the 
fortune-teller  liberally  for  the  harm  she  had  done  us,  and 
withdrew. 

1  durst  not  return  to  the  two  sisters  the  next  day.  On  the 
third  day  Emily  sent  to  desire  me  to  come  to  them  without  fail. 
I  went  accordingly.    Towards  the  end  of  the  lesson  Emily  ap- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


141 


peared  ;  she  danced  a  minuet  with  me  ;  she  had  never  displayed 
so  much  grace,  and  the  father  declared  he  had  never  seen  a 
handsomer  couple  dancing  in  his  room.  After  the  lesson,  the 
father  went  out  and  inquired  for  Lucinda.  "  She  is  in  bed," 
said  Emily  ;  "  but  do  not  be  uneasy  ;  when  she  thinks  herself 
ill,  she  suffers  the  less  from  her  afflictions  ;  and  whatever  she 
may  say,,she  has  no  inclination  to  die  :  it  is  only  her  passion 
that  torments  her.  Last  night  she  declared  to  me  that  she  was 
certain  she  should  sink  under  her  grief  this  time,  and  desired 
that  when  she  should  be  near  her  end,  the  ungrateful  man  who 
had  only  gained  her  heart  for  the  purpose  of  treating  her  so  ill, 
should  be  brought  to  her." — "  1  cannot  reproach  myself  with 
having  given  her  any  reason  to  imagine  me  in  love  with  her,"  I 
exclaimed  ;  "  I  know  one  who  can  v  ery  well  testify  in  my  favour 
on  this  occasion." — "  T  understand  you,"  answered  Emily, 
laughing  ;  "  it  is  necessary  to  come  to  a  resolution,  to  spare  us 
all  much  vexation.  Will  you  take  it  ill  if  1  entreat  you  to  give 
over  your  lessons  ?  My  father  says  you  have  now  no  further 
occasion  for  them  ;  and  that  you  know  as  much  as  a  young  man 
has  occasion  to  know  for  his  amusement." — "And  is  it  you, 
Emily,  who  bid  me  banish  myself  from  your  presence  ?"  Yes, 
but  not  merely  of  my  own  accord.  Listen  to  me  :  after  you 
left  us  the  day  before  yesterday,  I  made  the  fortune-teller  cut 
the  cards  for  you  ;  the  same  fortune  appeared  thrice,  and  more 
clearly  each  time.  You  were  surrounded  by  friends,  by  great 
lords  :  in  short,  by  all  kinds  of  happiness  and  pleasure  ;  you 
did  not  want  for  money  ;  women  were  at  a  certain  distance 
from  you  ;  my  poor  sister,  in  particular,  remained  afar 
off  ;  another  was  nearer  to  you,  and  1  will  not  conceal  from  you 
that  I  think  it  was  myself.  After  this  confession,  you  ought  not 
to  take  my  advice  amiss.  I  have  promised  my  heart  and  hand 
to  an  absent  friend,  whom  I  have  hitherto  loved  above  all  the 
world.  What  a  situation  would  be  yours,  between  two  sis- 
ters, one  of  whom  would  torment  you  with  her  passion,  and  the 
other  by  her  reserve  ;  and  all  this  for  nothing — for  a  momentary 
attachment  ;  for  even  had  we  not  known  who  you  are,  and  the 
hopes  you  have,  the  cards  would  have  informed  us,  Farewell," 
added  she,  leading  me  towards  the  door  ;  "  and  since  it  is  the  last 
time  we  shall  see  each  other,  accept  a  mark  of  friendship  which 
I  could  not  otherwise  have  given  you."  At  these  words  she 
threw  he  arms  around  my  neck  and  gave  me  a  kiss  in  the  most 
tender  manner. 

At  the  same  initant  a  concealed  door  opened,  and  her  sister, 
in  a  pretty  morning  undress,  rushed  towards  us,  and  exclaimed, 
"  You  shall  not  be  the  only  one  to  take  leave  of  him."  Emily, 
let  me  go.  Lucinda  embraced  me,  and  held  me  closely  to  her 
bosom.  Her  beautiful  black  hair  caressed  my  face.  She  re- 
mained some  time  in  this  situation  ;  and  thus  J  found  myself  be 
tween  the  two  sisters  in  the  distressing  predicament  that  Emilv 


142 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


had  warned  me  of.  At  length  Lucinda,  quitting  her  hold  of  me, 
fixed  her  eyes  on  me  with  a  serious  air;  then  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  with  hurried  steps,  and  at  last  threw  herself  upon 
a  sofa.  Emily  approached  her,  but  Lucinda  pushed  her  back, 
Then  commenced  a  scene  which  I  still  recollect  with  pain.  It 
was  not  a  theatrical  scene  ;  there  was  but  too  much  truth  in  the 
passion  of  this  young  and  lively  Frenchwoman. 

Lucinda  overwhelmed  her  sister  with  reproaches.  "  This," 
said  she,  "  is  not  the  first  heart  favourably  disposed  towards  me, 
that  you  have  deprived  me  ôf.  It  was  the  same  with  that  absent 
friend  whom  you  drew  into  your  snares,  even  before  my  eyes  ! 
You  have  now  robbed  me  of  this  one,  without  relinquishing  the 
other.  How  many  more,  will  you  take  from  me  ?  I  am  frank 
and  artless  :  people  think  they  know  me  well,  and  therefore  they 
neglect  me.  You  are  calm  and  dissembling  :  they  think  to  find 
something  wonderful  in  you  ;  but  your  outward  form  covers  a 
cold  selfish  heart,  which  only  seeks  victims." 

Emily  had  seated  herself  near  her  sister  ;  she  remained  silent. 
Lucinda,  growing  warmer,  entered  into  particulars  to  which  it 
did  not  become  me  to  listen.  Emily  endeavoured  to  pacify  her, 
and  made  me  a  sign  to  retire.  But  jealousy  has  the  eyes  of 
Argus  :  and  this  sign  did  not  escape  Lucinda's  notice.  She 
arose,  came  towards  me,  looked  me  in  the  face  with  a  pensive 
air,  and  said  :  "  I  know  you  are  lost  to  me.  I  renounce  all  pre- 
tensions to  you  :  but  as  to  you,  sister,  he  shall  no  more  be  yours 
than  mine."  Saying  this  she  embraced  me  again,  pressed  my 
face  to  hers,  and  repeatedly  joined  her  lips  to  mine.  "  And 
now,"  she  cried,  "  dread  my  malediction.  Wo  on  wo,  eter- 
nal wo,  to  her  who  shall  first  press  those  lips  after  me.  Em- 
brace him  now,  if  you  dare,  J  am  sure  that  heaven  has  heard 
me.    And  you,  Sir,  retire  without  delay." 

]  did  not  wait  for  a  repetition  of  the  command  -,  and  I  left 
them  with  a  firm  resolution  never  more  to  set  foot  in  a  house 
where  I  had  innocently  done  so  much  mischief! 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE 


143 


CHAPTER  X, 

The  situation  of  the  German  poets  in  the  world  was  then  in 
the  highest  degree  insignificant.  Unless  they  had  some  private 
patronage,  there  was  neither  emolument  nor  respectability  for 
them.  A  poor  poet,  justly  conscious  of  his  genius,  was  con- 
demned to  creep  with  difficulty  through  the  narrow  path  of  life. 
Under  the  pressure  of  want,  he  was  obliged  to  exhaust  the 
precious  gifts  of  the  muses  on  profitless  labours.  Occasional 
poems,  the  most  ancient  and  free  of  all  the  poetical  arts,  were 
so  much  decried,  that  even  to  this  day  people  have  no  idea  of 
the  real  interest  of  these  compositions.  Poets  were  thus  mise- 
rably pressed  down  to  the  lowest  round  of  the  social  ladder,  like 
buffoons  and  parasites.  They  afforded  a  caricature  which  people 
ridiculed  at  their  pleasure,  both  on  the  stage  and  in  the  world. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  poetical  talent  devolved  on  a  man  of  res- 
pectability, his  situation  in  life  shed  a  splendour  around  him 
which  reflected  on  his  muse.  Noblemen,  who  knew  the  world 
like  Hagedorn,  rich  citizens  like  Brockes,  and  celebrated  philo- 
sophers like  Haller,  already  shone  among  the  most  esteemed 
characters  of  their  country.  Those  men  were  held  in  extraor- 
dinary respect,  who  united  this  pleasing  talent  with  capacity  and 
probity  in  business.  It  was  this  uncommon  alliance  of  hetero- 
geneous qualities  that  was  admired  and  respected  in  Utz,  Ra- 
bener,  and  Weisse. 

At  length  the  period  arrived  when  poetical  genius  felt  its 
strength,  and  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  consideration  due  to  it. 
and  in  securing  its  native  dignity  and  independence.  Every  requi- 
site for  this  glorious  liberation  of  poetry  was  found  combined  in 
Klopstock.  His  youth  was  remarkable  for  the  purity  of  his  sen- 
timents and  morals  :  a  serious  education  and  solid  principles 
obtained  him  great  personal  respect  at  an  early  period  of  life. 
Laying  down  the  plan  of  his  career  with  deliberation,  he  selected 
for  his  muse  the  most  sublime  of  subjects,  and  the  best  calculated 
to  affect  the  heart.  It  was  reserved  for  his  genius  to  invoke 
with  new  enthusiasm  universal  veneration  to  the  name  of  the 
Messiah.  The  Redeemer  was  the  hero  he  chose  to  conduct 
through  earthly  miseries  and  sufferings  to  triumph  in  the  highest 
heaven.  All  that  there  was  of  human  and  divine,  all  of  Milton's 
inspiration,  in  the  soul  of  the  youthful  poet,  was  devoted  to  the 
embellishment  of  this  magnificent  subject.  Nourished  by  the 
Bible,  filled  with  the  marrow  of  the  sacred  books,  he  had  made 
himself  the  contemporary  and  friend  of  the  patriarchs,  the  pro- 
phets, and  the  precursors  of  the  Divinity.  In  reading  the  first 
ten  cantos  of  the  Messiah,  we  share  i?101uat  heavenly  peace 


144 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE» 


which  Klopstock  enjoyed  whilst  he  was  meditating  and  compo- 
sing his  poem. 

The  poet  felt  himself  elevated  by  the  dignity  of  his  subject- 
He  justly  considered  himself  as  in  some  degree  sanctified  by  the 
sublimity  of  his  contemplations.  He  became  more  than  ever 
scrupulous  to  maintain  an  unspotted  purity.  At  an  advanced 
age  he  was  much  concerned  at  the  thought  of  having  devoted 
his  first  love  to  a  young  female,  who,  by  marrying  another  per- 
son, had  left  him  doubtful  of  the  sincerity  of  her  attachment, 
and  the  claims  she  had  to  his  affection.  The  sentiments  that 
attached  him  to  his  Meta,  that  tranquil  and  altogether  spiritual 
love  ;  their  short  and  holy  union  ;  the  aversion  of  the  surviving 
husband  to  a  second  marriage  ;*  in  short,  all  his  engagements 
and  affections  were  of  such  a  nature  as  to  allow  him  to  preserve 
the  memory  of  them  in  the  abodes  of  the  blessed. 

The  respect  which  he  acquired  by  an  honourable  life  was  still 
increased  by  the  reception  he  met  with  in  Denmark,  and  the 
kindness  which  he  so  long  experienced  in  the  house  of  a  great 
minister.  His  residence  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  eminent  per- 
sonages, where  he  was  the  object  of  public  attention,  served  to 
confirm  him  in  the  plans  he  had  adopted.  An  air  of  reserve,  a 
measured  kind  of  language,  a  laconic  mode  of  expression,  which 
he  never  laid  aside,  even  in  the  most  free  and  open  communi- 
cations, gave  him  throughout  life  a  diplomatic  and  ministerial 
aspect,  which  seemed  to  form  a  contrast  with  his  natural  gen- 
tleness and  sensibility  ;  although  these  different  manners  origin- 
ated in  the  same  source.  Accordingly,  his  first  works,  at  once 
the  results  and  models  of  a  perfect  purity,  obtained  an  incalcu- 
lable influence.  But,  although  his  example  was  unquestionably 
of  great  service  to  his  contemporaries,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
point  out  any  passages  of  his  life  that  would  justify  our  including 
him  in  the  number  of  those  great  men,  whose  generosity  has  ex- 
tended  a  protecting  hand  to  unfortunate  talent. 

This  eagerness  to  be  serviceable  to  young  men  drawn  by  in- 
clination into  the  literary  career,*to  render  life  pleasant  to  them, 
to  sustain  their  hopes,  to  promote  their  success,  to  smooth  the 
path  of  such  of  them  as  fortune  had  frowned  upon,  is  an  honour 
that  is  particularly  due  to  one  of  our  poets  who  stands  in  the 
second  class  with  respect  to  his  personal  dignity,  but  in  the  first 
in  regard  to  his  active  influence  ; — I  mean  to  speak  of  Gleim. 
He  held  a  situation,  which,  although  obscure,  was  lucrative.  He 
lived  at  Halberstadt,  a  well-situated  town  of  the  middling  order, 
but  animated  by  military  activity,  by  industry,  and  by  literature. 
A  great  and  wealthy  establishment  drew  revenues  out  of  it,  of 
Avhich  part  were,  however,  usefully  employed  on  the  spot. 

*  The  manner  in  which  Goethe  here  expresses  himself,  might  lead  one  to  ima- 
gine that  Klopstock,  after  the  loss  of  his  first  wife,  passed  the  remainder  of  his 
days  in  widowhood.    The  f*'  't  is,  however,  that  he  contracted  a  second  marriage. 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE» 


146 


Gleim  was  passionately  fond  of  writing,  but  this  predilection  did 
not  suffice  for  the  employment  of  all  his  faculties.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  still  more  powerful  inclination  that  constantly  induced  him 
to  promote  the  industry  of  others.  To  these  two  inclinations, 
which  strengthened  each  other,  the  whole  of  his  life  was  devoted. 
To  be  composing  and  giving  was  as  necessary  to  him  as  the  air 
he  breathed.  His  greatest  pleasure  was  to  relieve  the  distresses 
of  necessitous  genius.  He  thus  did  honour  to  literature,  whilst 
he  raised  up  numerous  friends  and  dependents  for  himself. 
These  applauded  his  poems,  which  were  somewhat  diffuse  in 
style  ;  it  was  the  only  way  they  had  to  testify  their  gratitude  for 
his  favours. 

The  high  opinion  of  themselves  which  these  two  men  had 
ventured  to  conceive,  emboldened  their  competitors  also  to  think 
themselves  somebody  ;  and  produced  both  on  the  public  and  on 
individuals,  an  effect  favourable  to  poetry.  But  this  conscious- 
ness of  their  personal  importance,  honourable  as  it  was  to  their 
feelings,  was,  nevertheless,  attended  with  a  serious  inconveni- 
ence to  themselves,  to  those  who  surrounded  them,  and  to  their 
contemporaries.  Great  as  they  were  in  mental  faculties,  to  the 
world  they  were  little  ;  and  as  they  could  not  be  always  com- 
posing and  giving,  and  were  total  strangers  to  the  occupations 
which  absorb  the  time  of  eminent  personages,  of  the  rich  and 
great  of  the  world,  they  concentrated  themselves  entirely  in 
their  own  little  circles.  They  attached  to  all  their  inclinations, 
actions,  and  even  pastimes,  a  degree  of  interest  which  they  could 
avow  only  among  themselves.  They  received  merited  praises 
and  testimonials  of  esteem.  They  returned  them,  not  without 
discrimination,  but  with  too  much  generosity.  Full  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  noble  sentiments,  they  delighted  in  continually  re- 
peating them,  and  spared  neither  ink  nor  paper  for  that  purpose. 
Hence  all  that  epistolary  intercourse,  the  unsubstantial  nature 
of  which  now  astonishes  us.  It  contains  nothing  censurable. 
But  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  men  of  superior  genius  could 
find  any  pleasure  in  such  insignificant  correspondence  ;  and  one 
cannot  help  regretting  that  such  faculties  should  have  been 
printed.  At  the  same  time  we  give  a  place  on  our  shelves  to  these 
little  collections,  were  it  only  to  learn  from  them  that  even  a 
man  of  superior  mind  stands  in  need  of  a  proper  scope  of  ac- 
tion, and  that  he  ceases  to  inspire  all  the  interest  he  might  fairly 
pretend  to,  when,  too  much  wrapped  up  in  self,  he  neglects  to 
refresh  his  faculties  in  the  world,  which  alone  can  furnish  him 
subjects  for  his  labours,  and  disclose  to  him  the  real  extent  of 
his  progress. 

It  was  at  the  period  when  these  celebrated  men  were  in  the 
full  activity  and  splendour  of  their  career,  that  our- young  swarm 
began  to  move  in  its  little  circle.  My  young  friends  and  I  were 
also  in  a  fair  way  to  fall  into  the  folly  of  that  dull  interchange  of 
reciprocal  praises,  flatteries,  and  concessions.    All  that  came 

T 


146 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


from  my  pen  was  well  received  in  this  sphere.  My  associates 
could  not  find  fault  with  what  I  produced  merely  from  a  wish  to 
please  them.  Connexions  of  this  kind,  the  basis  of  which  is 
complaisance,  are  sure  to  infuse  an  effeminacy  and  loose  facility 
into  an  author's  style  ;  and  this  phraseology  would  soon  deprive 
it  of  every  trace  of  originality,  did  not  imperious  necessity  from 
time  to  time  produce  events  which  give  fresh  vigour  to  our  minds 
and  talents,  by  transporting  us  into  a  more  elevated  sphere. 

It  was  thus  that  an  unforeseen  circumstance  put  all  my  self- 
sufficiency,  pride,  and  presumption,  to  a  rough  trial.  In  this 
point  of  view,  my  meeting  with  Herder,  and  the  connexion  I  con- 
sequently formed  with  him,  was  the  most  remarkable  event  of 
this  period  of  my  life,  and  that  which  had  the  most  important 
effects  on  the  remainder  of  it.  This  man,  who  afterwards  be- 
came celebrated,  had  accompanied  the  prince  of  Holstein-Eutin 
in  a  journey  which  the  latter  had  undertaken  to  divert  his  mind 
from  melancholy  reflections  :  he  accordingly  came  with  the 
prince  to  Strasburg.  On  hearing  of  his  arrival  we  all  wished  to 
see  him.  It  was  chance  that  procured  me  this  good  fortune.  I 
had  gone  to  pay  a  visit  at  the  Hotel  de  l'Esprit.  At  the  foot  of 
the  staircase  I  met  a  man  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  clergyman, 
and  who  was  likewise  going  up  stairs.  He  wore  his  hair  curled 
and  dressed,  a  black  coat,  and  a  long  silk  cloak  of  the  same 
colour,  the  end  of  which  was  tucked  up  into  his  pocket.  This 
costume,  elegant  on  the  whole,  although  a  little  singular,  I  had 
heard  described  ;  and  hence  I  was  convinced  that  the  celebra- 
ted individual  whose  arrival  had  been  announced  to  us,  now 
stood  before  me.  The  manner  in  which  I  accosted  him  was  cal- 
culated to  lead  him  to  suppose  that  I  knew  him.  He  asked  my 
name,  which  could  be  of  no  interest  to  him.  My  open  man- 
ner, however,  seemed  to  please  him.  He  answered  me  with 
great  civility,  and  when  we  got  up  stairs  our  conversation  soon 
grew  animated.  On  leaving  him  I  asked  his  permission  to  see 
him  again,  which  he  granted,  apparently  with  pleasure.  \  availed 
myself  of  his  favour  several  times.  I  daily  found  myself  more 
strongly  attracted  towards  him.  There  was  in  his  manners  a 
kind  of  unaffected  delicacy  which  became  him  wonderfully.  His 
face  was  round,  his  forehead  large  and  commanding,  his  nose 
somewhat  short  ;  and  although  his  lips  were  rather  too  thick,  he 
had,  on  the  whole,  a  very  agreeablv  formed  mouth.  The  effect 
of  his  black  eyes,  shaded  by  sable  brows,  was  not  destroyed  by 
the  redness  and  inflammation  to  which  one  of  them  was  subject. 
He  asked  me  many  questions  relative  to  my  character  and  situa- 
tion ;  and  I,  with  my  natural  inclination  to  place  confidence, 
kept  nothing  concealed  from  this  new  friend.  But  it  was  not 
long  before  the  repulsive  features  of  his  character  began  to  ma- 
nifest themselves,  and  in  some  measure  disconcerted  me.  I 
talked  to  him  of  the  occupations  and  tastes  of  my  youth,  and 
-among  others  of  a  collection  of  seals  which  I  had  made  by  the 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOËTIÏE. 


147 


assistance  of  a  friend  of  our  family,  whose  correspondence  was 
very  extensive.  I  had  arranged  my  collection  in  the  order  of 
the  almanac,  thus  making  myself  acquainted  with  every  body 
from  potentates  and  princes  of  inferior  rank  to  the  lowest  de- 
grees of  the  nobility.  I  had  often  found  it  useful  to  consult  the 
memorials  of  this  heraldic  collection,  particularly  at  the  time  of 
the  coronation  of  the  king  of  the  Romans.  I  used  to  speak  of 
it  with  some  pleasure  ;  but  Herder  did  not  consider  it  of  any 
value  whatever.  He  not  only  totally  disallowed  the  importance 
I  attached  to  it,  but  managed  to  make  it  appear  ridiculous  even 
to  myself,  and  put  me  quite  out  of  conceit  with  it. 

I  had  ample  opportunities  of  experiencing  his  contradictory 
humour;  for  he  entertained  an  idea  of  separating  from  the 
prince,  and  was  likewise  desirous  of  getting  the  disorder  in  his 
eyes  cured  at  Strasburg.  This  is  one  of  the  most  painful  and 
distressing  of  complaints  ;  and  Herder's  case  was  peculiarly  af- 
flicting, as  he  could  expect  no  cure  but  from  a  very  painful  ope- 
ration,  the  success  of  which  was  uncertain. 

At  length  he  parted  with  the  prince  and  took  lodgings  for  him- 
self. He  resolved  to  undergo  the  operation  under  the  hands  of 
Lobstein.  I  then  felt  all  the  advantage  of  having  accustomed 
myself  to  subdue  my  sensibility,  for  hence  I  was  enabled  to  as- 
sist at  the  operation,  and  render  myself  serviceable  to  my  worthy 
friend  in  several  ways.  1  had  now  an  opportunity  of  admiring 
his  firmness  and  resignation.  Neither  the  numerous  incisions, 
nor  the  most  painful  applications,  could  extort  any  token  of  im- 
patience from  him  ;  indeed  he  seemed  to  suffer  less  than  any  of 
us  :  I  say  us,  because  he  was  attended  not  only  by  me  but  by  a 
worthy  Russian  named  Peglow,  who  had  known  Herder  at  Riga  ; 
and  who,  although  no  longer  young,  was  perfecting  himself  in 
the  art  of  surgery  under  Lobstein.  Herder  was  sometimes 
good-natured  and  accessible,  and  sometimes  governed  by  a 
wayward  humour.  All  men  are  more  or  less  subject  to  similar 
changes  ;  there  are  few  who  can  really  subdue  their  temper,  and 
many  who  possess  only  the  appearance  of  this  self-dominion. 
As  to  Herder,  when  bitterness  and  the  spirit  of  contradiction  got 
possession  of  his  mind,  it  was  to  be  attributed  to  his  sufferings. 
The  action  of  these  causes  constantly  occurs  in  life  ;  and  many 
characters  were  very  ill  appreciated,  because  people  always 
suppose  others  to  be  in  good  health,  and  expect  men  to  be  al- 
ways masters  of  themselves. 

As  long  as  Herder  was  under  the  surgeon's  hands,  I  visited  him 
every  morning  and  evening.  I  sometimes  staid  all  day.  I  soon 
accustomed  myself  to  his  caustic  humour,  as  1  daily  found  new 
reason  to  prize  his  excellent  and  uncommon  qualities,  the  extent 
of  his  knowledge,  the  profundity  of  his  mind.  He  was  five  years 
younger  than  me  ;  a  difference  of  age  which  is  sensibly  perceived 
among  young  people.  His  acknowledged  merit,  and  my  esteem 
for  such  of  his  literary  works  as  he  had  already  published,  gav* 


148 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


him  a  great  superiority  over  me  ;  but  this  benevolent  churl, 
whilst  he  subjugated  my  mind,  effected  in  it  a  singular  revolu- 
tion. Such  of  my  elders  as  I  had  hitherto  associated  with,  had 
endeavoured  to  improve  me  by  treating  me  with  great  indul- 
gence. But  as  to  Herder,  his  approbation  was  never  to  be  reck- 
oned upon,  in  whatever  manner  it  might  be  sought.  On  one 
side,  my  strong  attachment  to  and  respect  for  him — and  on  the 
other,  the  self-dissatisfaction  he  excited  in  me,  kept  me  in  a  state 
of  internal  contention  and  contradiction  which  I  had  never  before 
experienced.  His  conversation,  always  highly  interesting,  his 
manner  of  interrogating  and  giving  answers,  suggested  new  re- 
flections and  ideas  to  my  mind.  At  Leipsic  I  had  confined 
myself  within  a  narrow  and  circumscribed  circle  of  occupa- 
tions. During  the  latter  part  of  my  residence  at  Frankfort,  I 
had  made  no  great  progress  in  the  study  of  German  literature. 
My  half  chymical,  half  mystical  and  religious  researches,  had 
misled  me  into  the  regions  of  obscurity  ;  and  I  was  a  stranger 
to  almost  all  that  had  appeared  for  some  years  in  the  vast  sphere 
of  letters.  I  now  found  myself  initiated  on  a  sudden,  by  Herder, 
into  all  the  new  attempts  and  views  of  our  literary  men,  in  which 
he  himself  appeared  to  take  a  very  active  part.  By  his  frag- 
ments, critical  works,  and  other  compositions,  he  had  placed 
himself  on  a  level  with  the  most  eminent  men  our  nation  had  to 
boast.  It  is  impossible  to  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the  workings 
of  a  mind  of  such  strength,  or  of  the  reflections  and  studies  that 
nourished  the  rich  and  fertile  genius  which  has  since  revealed 
itself  in  all  Herder's  publications. 

Shortly  after  the  commencement  of  our  intimacy,  he  told  me, 
in  confidence,  that  he  was  writing  for  the  prize  proposed  by  the 
academy  of  Berlin  for  the  best  treatise  on  the  origin  of  lan- 
guages. It  was  not  long  before  he  showed  me  his  manuscript, 
written  in  a  very  neat  hand.  I  had  never  reflected  on  the  sub- 
ject of  which  he  treated.  I  was  too  deeply  plunged  in  the  study 
of  languages  to  think  of  seeking  their  origin.  The  question 
also  appeared  to  me  in  some  degree  idle.  In  fact,  if  God  created 
man  complete,  he  must  have  endowed  him  with  language  as  well 
as  other  faculties.  In  the  same  manner  as  man  must  soon  have 
remarked,  that  he  was  able  to  walk  and  to  make  use  of  his 
hands  to  seize  the  objects  within  his  reach,  he  must  also  have 
perceived  that  he  could  make  use  of  his  throat  to  sing,  and  mo- 
dify his  tones  by  the  help  of  his  palate  and  lips.  In  admitting 
the  divine  origin  of  man,  it  was  necessary  to  admit  the  same 
origin  for  language  ;  and  if  man,  considered  as  one  of  the  parts 
of  the  great  work  of  nature,  was  a  natural  being,  language  also 
was  natural.  My  mind  was  as  far  from  separating  these  two 
things  as  the  soul  and  body.  Silberschlag,  mingling  a  sort  of 
material  doctrine  with  these  arguments,  had  advocated  the  divine 
origin  of  language  ;  that  is  to  say,  that  according  to  him,  God 
had  been  the  preceptor  of  the  first  man.    Herder  ascended  stîïJ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


149 


higher,  in  his  treatise.  He  showed  how  man,  with  the  faculties 
he  possessed,  might  and  must  have  created  a  language  for  him- 
self by  his  own  efforts.  I  read  this  treatise  with  great  pleasure 
and  benefit.  But  I  was  neither  learned,  nor  profound  thinker 
enough,  to  make  up  my  mind  very  readily.  1  expressed  to  the 
author  all  the  satisfaction  I  felt.  I  merely  ventured  to  make  a 
few  observations,  suggested  by  my  manner  of  considering  the 
subject.  But  neither  my  compliments  nor  my  criticisms  met 
with  a  favourable  reception  from  him,  and  he  turned  them  both 
into  ridicule  with  some  acrimony.  His  surgeon  was  either  more 
ingenious  or  less  patient  than  me  :  he  escaped  the  reading  of  the 
treatise,  declaring  himself  incapable  of  attending  to  such  abstract 
matters,  and  insisting  on  our  sitting  down  to  our  usual  party  of 
ombre,  which  we  played  every  evening. 

During  the  whole  time  of  his  fatiguing  and  painful  cure,  Her- 
ders vicacity  never  diminished  ;  but  it  decreased  in  good  nature 
daily.  He  could  not  write  a  note,  even  to  ask  for  any  thing  he 
wanted,  without  inserting  some  caustic  remark  in  it  :  for  in- 
stance, writing  to  me  one  day  to  request  the  loan  of  the  Letters 
of  Brutus,  which  are  included  in  the  collection  of  those  of  Ci- 
cero, he  amused  himself  with  jesting  on  my  name.  This  was, 
in  my  opinion,  an  unlucky  species  of  pleasantry,  from  which  he 
should  have  abstained.  A  man's  name  is  not  a  cloak  that  may 
be  pulled  at  pleasure  by  every  one.  It  is  a  garment  that  exactly 
fits  his  shape  ;  or  rather,  it  is  his  very  skin,  which  expands  with 
his  growth,  and  which  cannot  be  pierced  or  torn  without  wound- 
ing him. 

In  this  note  he  reproached  me,  and  not  without  reason,  with 
attending  more  to  the  outside  than  the  inside  of  my  books.  I 
had  brought  a  certain  number  with  me  from  Strasburg,  among 
which  were  several  ane  editions  from  my  father's  collection. 
These  I  had  arranged  on  some  very  neat  shelves,  with  a  full  in- 
tention to  make  use  of  them.  But  how  was  I  to  find  time  for 
this  purpose,  amidst  the  thousand  and  one  occupations  I  had 
created  for  myself?  Herder,  whose  mind  was  intent  on  books, 
for  which  he  had  occasion  every  moment,  laid  hands  on  my  fine 
collection  the  first  time  he  paid  me  a  visit;  but  soon  perceived 
that  1  made  scarcely  any  use  of  them.  Being  a  declared  enemy 
to  every  kind  of  false  appearance  and  ostentation,  he  did  not 
spare  his  jests  and  reproaches  on  this  subject. 

I  had  often  talked  to  him  about  my  visit  to  the  Dresden  gal- 
lery ;  but  I  had  not  yet  learnt  to  distinguish  the  true  merit  ofthe 
Italian  school,  and  my  admiration  was  often  bestowed  on  a  work 
of  an  inferior  class.  This  childish  enthusiasm  procured  me  a 
little  epigram  from  Herder,  which  I  have  preserved. 

But  although  this  sarcastic  humour  often  gave  me  pain,  it 
was,  on  the  whole,  of  service  to  me.  I  had  already  sacrificed 
my  opinions  and  inclinations  more  than  once  for  the  sake  of 
gaining  experience  and  information.    I  now  learned  to  endure 


150 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


raillery  ;  endeavouring,  at  the  same  time,  to  discriminate  between 
deserved  censure  and  unjust  sarcasms. 

From  Herder  I  learned  to  look  upon  poetry  in  a  new  point  of 
view,  with  which  I  was  much  pleased.  That  of  the  Hebrews, 
on  which  he  composed  an  excellent  treatise,  according  to  Lowth, 
his  predecessor  in  that  pursuit  :  the  popular  songs,  into  the  ori- 
gin of  which  in  Alsace  we  were  induced  to  inquire  by  his  re- 
searches, and  the  primitive  examples  of  this  noble  art,  all  tes- 
tified, in  his  opinion,  that  poetry  was  not  the  privilege  of  a  few 
individuals  polished  by  careful  cultivation,  but  an  inherent  fa- 
culty in  the  human  mind.  I  engaged  with  eagerness  in  all  these 
studies;  and  my  avidity  to  learn  equalled  the  generous  zeal  of 
my  instructer.  I  was,  however,  desirous  not  to  discontinue  the 
studies  I  had  begun  in  various  natural  sciences  ;  and  as  we  have 
always  time  enough  when  we  know  how  to  employ  it  well,  I 
undertook  this  double  and  triple  task  with  success.  The  proof 
that  the  few  weeks  we  passed  together  at  this  time  were  well 
employed  is,  that  all  the  works  which  Herder  afterward  executed 
successively  were  conceived  at  this  period,  and  that  our  common 
labours  brought  me  into  the  most  favourable  disposition  for  com- 
pleting, extending,  and  connecting,  with  a  more  elevated  prospect 
of  the  future,  all  the  reflections  I  had  previously  made,  and  all 
the  knowledge  I  had  acquired.  Had  Herder  been  more  me- 
thodical, I  should  have  had  in  him  the  most  invaluable  of  guides  ; 
but  he  was  more  inclined  to  try  and  to  excite,  than  to  conduct 
and  direct.  He  had  a  high  opinion  of  Hamann's  writings.  He 
put  them  into  my  hands  ;  but  instead  of  teaching  me  to  read 
them,  and  rendering  the  march  of  this  extraordinary  mind  intel- 
ligible to  me,  it  was  an  amusement  to  him  to  see  me  gesticu- 
lating in  a  manner  which  certainly  was  singular  enough,  when  I 
was  torturing  my  mind  in  order  to  discover  the  meaning  of  those 
pages  so  truly  worthy  of  the  sibyls.  Nevertheless  I  derived 
some  pleasure  from  this  perusal  ;  and  1  engaged  in  it,  notwith- 
standing the  repugnance  which  my  ignorance  created,  on  the 
principle  with  which  the  author  sets  out,  and  with  a  view  to  the 
end  at  which  he  aims. 

Herder's  cure  was  still  delayed,  and  Lobstein  appeared  un- 
certain and  irresolute  in  his  proceedings.  Our  anxieties  per- 
vaded all  our  intercourse  ;  Herder  became  quite  impatient  and 
unhappy.  They  now  began  to  ascribe  the  failure  of  the  opera- 
tion to  the  too  violent  tension  of  his  mind,  to  the  vivacity,  and 
even  to  the  gayety  of  our  conversations.  These  reproaches 
obliged  him  to  repress  his  usual  activity.  In  short,  after  all  his 
tortures,  he  was  obliged  to  relinquish  all  hopes  of  a  cure  ;  and, 
to  avoid  a  greater  evil,  it  was  necessary  to  enlarge  the  wound. 
Herder's  firmness  during  the  operation  appeared  to  us  admirable  ; 
and  there  was  something  sublime  in  his  melancholy  resignation 
to  the  idea  of  being  afflicted  for  life  with  such  an  infirmity.  This 
disorder,  which  disfigured  his  noble  and  pleasing  countenance. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


151 


must  have  been  cruelly  felt  by  him,  as  he  had  formed  an  intima- 
cy at  Darmstadt  with  a  young  lady  of  great  merit,  whose  heart 
he  had  gained,  and  to  whom  he  expected  to  be  united  by  indis- 
soluble ties.  He  had  submitted  to  this  painful  operation  chiefly 
to  enable  him  to  appear  before  his  mistress,  on  his  return,  with 
a  more  easy  heart  and  a  more  agreeable  exterior.  Although 
his  hopes  had  been  disappointed,  he  hastened  to  quit  Strasburg; 
and  as  his  residence  there  had  been  as  expensive  as  disagree- 
able, I  borrowed  a  sum  of  money  for  him,  which  he  promised  to 
return  me  by  a  day  fixed.  The  time  elapsed,  and  the  money  did 
not  arrive.  \t  length  I  received  it,  with  a  letter  from  Herder, 
who  did  not  depart  from  his  usual  character  on  this  occasion,  for 
instead  of  thanks  and  excuses,  his  letter,  written  in  irregular 
verse,  was  full  of  ingenious  and  lively  raillery. 

We  ought  never  to  mention  our  own  imperfections  or  those 
of  others  to  the  public,  but  when  there  are  hopes  that  such  dis- 
closures may  be  useful.  What  I  have  above  related  suggests 
some  reflections. 

Gratitude  and  ingratitude  are  among  those  phenomena  which 
are  every  instant  recurring  in  the  moral  world,  and  respecting 
which  opinions  always  differ.  I  have  accustomed  myself  to  dis- 
tinguish in  this  matter  three  different  shades  :  the  forgetting  of 
benefits,  ingratitude,  and  repugnance  to  gratitude.  The  first  de- 
fect is  born  with  man  :  it  is  inherent  in  our  nature  ;  it  is  the  re- 
sult of  that  happy  levity  with  which  we  forget  our  joys  and  sor- 
rows ;  a  faculty  without  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  pro- 
ceed in  life.  Indeed,  man  stands  in  need  of  so  much  external 
aid  to  render  his  life  supportable,  that  were  he  to  attempt  to 
repay  by  gratitude  all  that  he  owes  to  the  sun,  the  earth,  to  God 
and  nature,  to  his  ancestors  and  parents,  his  friends  and  compa- 
nions, he  would  have  neither  time  nor  sensibility  left  for  the  en- 
joyment of  so  many  benefits.  But  if  he  suffers  this  levity  to 
increase  upon  him,  it  is  soon  succeeded  by  a  cold  indifference  ; 
and  at  length  he  looks  upon  his  benefactor  only  as  a  being  who 
is  a  stranger  to  him,  and  whom  he  does  not  even  scruple  to  in- 
jure whenever  he  can  gain  any  advantage  by  it.  It  is  to  this 
disposition  of  mind  alone  that  I  give  the  name  of  ingratitude. 
As  to  a  repugnance  to  acknowledgment,  or  the  accepting  of  a 
benefit  in  a  morose  and  ungracious  manner,  this  sentiment  is  very 
uncommon,  and  none  but  superior  men  are  capable  of  feeling 
it.  Such  men,  conscious  of  their  extraordinary  faculties,  can- 
not, if  born  in  an  inferior  or  indigent  class,  take  a  single  step  in 
the  world  without  feeling  the  yoke  of  necessity  press  heavily 
upon  them  :  they  find  themselves  obliged  to  accept  of  assist- 
ance and  support,  by  whatever  hand  it  may  be  offered  :  the 
foolish  pride  of  benefactors  frequently  embitters  their  kindness: 
all  that  the  person  obliged  receives  is  of  a  material  nature,  and 
what  he  returns  is  of  a  much  more  elevated  value.  There  can- 
not, therefore.,  be  any  compensation  in  the  case.    Lessing,  who 


152  MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 

was  initiated  in  the  flower  of  his  age  into  a  perfect  knowledge 
of  the  things  of  the  world,  has  expressed  himself  on  this  subject 
with  more  ga yety  than  bitterness.  But  Herder  did  not.  like  him, 
know  how  to  make  up  his  mind  :  on  the  contrary,  he  wasted  his 
best  days  in  tormenting  others  as  well  as  himself.  Not  all  the 
strength  of  hk  mind  had  sufficed  to  teach  him  to  temper  this 
morose  humour  produced  by  the  difficulties  he  had  met  with 
in  youth. 

It  is,  however,  a  thing  which  we  may  very  well  undertake  ; 
for  our  perfectibility  is  a  natural  light  which  is  always  ready  to 
instruct  us  respecting  our  inclinations,  and  whose  benevolent 
aid  assists  us  in  regulating  them.  What  we  have  particularly  to 
guard  against  in  such  cases,  is  taking  our  imperfections  too  much 
to  heart  ;  and  having  recourse,  in  order  to  cure  ourselves  of 
them,  to  means  which  are  too  harsh,  and  too  much  above  our 
strength.  The  best  wa)  to  wean  ourselves  from  certain  faults 
is  to  do  it  in  play,  as  it  were,  and  by  easy  expedients.  Thus,  it 
is  easy  to  entertain  the  sentiment  of  gratitude  in  our  hearts,  and 
even  to  make  it  a  necessity,  by  encouraging  it  as  a  habit. 

For  instance,  I  am  naturally  as  little  inclined  to  gratitude  as 
any  one  ;  and  it  would  even  be  easy  for  the  lively  sense  of  a 
present  dissatisfaction,  to  lead  me,  first  to  forget  a  benefit,  and 
next  to  ingratitude.  In  order  to  avoid  falling  into  this  error,  I 
early  accustomed  myself  to  take  pleasure  in  reckoning  up  all  I 
possessed,  and  ascertaining  by  whose  means  1  acquired  it  : — I 
thiiik  on  the  persons  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  different  ar- 
ticles in  my  collections  ;  I  reflect  on  ihe  circumstances,  chances, 
and  most  remote  causes,  owing  to  which  1  have  obtained  the  va- 
rious things  I  prize,  in  order  to  pay  my  tribute  of  gratitude  to 
whomsoever  has  a  right  to  it.  All  that  surrounds  me  is  thus  ani- 
mated in  my  sight,  and  becomes  connected  with  affectionate  re- 
membrances. It  is  with  still  greater  pleasure  that  I  dwell  on 
the  objects  the  possession  of  which  does  not  fall  within  the  do- 
minion of  the  senses  ;  such  as  the  sentiments  I  have  imbibed, 
and  the  instruction  I  have  received.  Thus  my  present  existence 
is  exalted  and  enriched  by  the  memory  of  the  past  ;  my  imagi- 
nation recalls  to  my  heart  the  authors  of  the  good  I  enjoy  ;  a 
sweet  reminiscence  attends  the  recollection,  and  I  am  rendered 
incapable  of  ingratitude. 

Before  I  dismiss  the  subject  of  my  connexion  with  Herder, 
I  have  still  some  observations  to  make.  Nothing  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  daily  become  more  reserved  with  res- 
pect to  communicating  to  my  Mentor  the  studies  and  labours  in 
which  I  engaged.  He  had  often  made  my  inclinations  a  subject 
of  derision  ;  above  all,  my  predilection  for  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses had  been  treated  by  him  with  most  severe  criticism.  In 
vain  did  I  repeat  to  him  that  nothing  could  be  better  adapted 
for  the  recreation  of  a  youthful  fancy  than  to  dwell  in  this  cir- 
cle of  gods  and  demi-gods.  in  the  smiling  and  magnificent  coun~ 


MEMOIRS  OP  CrOKTHE. 


153 


mes  of  Greece  and  Italy  ;  in  vain  did  I  appeal  to  the  opinion 
of  a  grave  author  whom  I  have  already  quoted,  and  endeavour 
to  corroborate  it  by  my  own  observations.  My  eloquence  was 
entirely  thrown  away.  According  to  Herder  there  was  nothing  in 
all  this  poetry  from  which  any  fruit  could  be  immediately  gather- 
ed. It  gave  us  no  knowledge  of  Greece,  of  Italy,  of  the  an- 
cient world,  or  of  one  more  civilized  ;  it  was  a  mere  imitation  of 
more  ancient  poems — a  collection  of  pictures  executed  with 
much  mannerism,  such  as  might  be  expected  from  a  poet  polish- 
ed to  a  fault.  In  fact,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  say,  I  was  compel- 
led to  yield  ;  and  my  dear  Ovid  almost  became  indifferent  to  me  : 
for  there  is  no  inclination  or  habit,  however  strong,  which  can 
long  hold  out  against  the  criticisms  of  a  superior  man,  in  whom 
one  has  placed  confidence.  They  will  always  make  some  im- 
pression ;  and  when  we  can  no  longer  love  without  restraint^ 
passion  is  almost  extinct. 

I  concealed  from  Herder,  with  the  greatest  care,  the  interest 
I  felt  in  certain  subjects  which  had  in  a  manner  rooted  them- 
selves in  my  soul,  and  were  by  degrees  taking  a  poetical  aspect. 
These  were  Goetz  Von  Berlichingen*  and  Faust.t  The  life  of 
the  former  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me.  The  rough 
and  honourable  character  of  this  independent  man,  at  a  period 
of  savage  anarchy,  inspired  me  with  the  liveliest  interest.  In 
the  popular  drama  of  which  Faust  is  the  hero,  !  found  more 
than  one  tone  which  vibrated  strongly  in  my  very  soul.  I  also 
had  passed  through  the  circle  of  the  sciences,  and  had  early 
convinced  myself  of  their  vanity.  All  my  endeavours  to  find 
felicity  in  life  had  hitherto  proved  fruitless.  1  delighted  in  me- 
ditating on  these  subjects  in  my  solitary  hours,  although  as  yet 
without  writing  any  thing.  But  what  I  was  particularly  anxious 
to  conceal  from  Herder's  knowledge  was  my  mystico-cabalistic 
chymistry,  and  all  my  researches  of  that  kind.    1  was,  however, 

*  This  hero  of  Goëthe's  first  tragedy  was  one  of  those  German  gentlemen  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  who,  saving  their  fealty  to  the  Emperor,  whose  sovereignty 
they  acknowledged,  pretended  to  an  absolute  independence,  thought  them- 
selves exempt  from  all  civil  law,  and  free  to  right  themselves  ;  and  thus  wished 
to  perpetuate  feudal  anarchy.  He  was  lord  of  Jaxthausen,  a  village  with  a 
castle  on  the  Jaxt,  in  the  palatinate  of  the  Rhine.  He  had  a  long  series  of 
disputes  with  the  bishop  of  Bamberg — Ed. 

t  Feust  (John,)  the  hero  of  a  piece  of  Goëthe's,  some  fragments  of  which 
Madame  de  Staël  has  translated  in  her  book  on  Germany,  was,  according  to 
historians,  born  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  sop,  of  a  pea- 
sant of  Weimar  or  Kundling.  He  had  taken  his  degree  of  doctor  in  theology, 
Disgusted  with  that  science,  he  engaged  in  the  study  of  medicine  and  astrology, 
and  at  length  abandoned  himself  to  that  of  magic.  According  to  the  tales 
which  superstition  has  long  passed  current  respecting  this  learned  man,  he  con- 
jured up  the  Devil,  and  forced  an  infernal  spirit  into  his  service,  who  is  called 
Mephistepheles.  Faust  made  a  covpnant  vyith  him  for  the  term  of  twenty -four 
years;  during  which  period  he  traversed  the  earth,  descended  into  hell,  travel- 
led in  the  celestial  spheres,  and,  at  the  expiration  of  the  fatal  period,  had  his 
neck  twisted  by  the  Devil.  These  fables  relating  to  Dr.  Faust  are  very  popular 
in  Germany,  and  many  German  writers  have  brought  this  pretended  magician 
on  the  stage.   But  even  the  existence  of  such  a  man  has  been  doubted. — Ed, 

U 


Id4 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHL,. 


still  fond  of  carrying  them  on  in  secret,  and  of  collecting  the 
results  of  these  pursuits  with  more  order  and  regularity  than 
before.  Of  all  my  poetical  labours,  I  believe  that  the  only  one 
which  I  then  communicated  to  my  Mentor  was  the  play  of  the 
Accomplices  ;  but  I  do  not  remember  that  he  gave  me  any  opi- 
nion or  encouragement  on  this  piece.  He  was  always  the  same 
in  every  thing.  Still  his  opinions  operated  upon  my  mind  with 
powerful  influence  ;  and  if  they  did  not  render  me  dissatisfied 
with  myself,  they  at  least  appeared  worthy  of  my  whole  atten- 
tion. Every  thing  of  his,  even  to  his  handwriting,  had  a  magi- 
cal influence  over  me.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  tore  or  threw 
away,  Ï  will  not  say  a  single  one  of  his  letters,  but  even  an  ad- 
dress written  by  him.  But  owing  to  frequent  removals,  I  do  not 
now  possess  a  single  trace  of  this  period  so  singular,  so  happy, 
and  so  pregnant  with  future  interest. 

Let  us  now  leave  my  sick  friend's  apartment  for  a  moment, 
and  breathe  a  less  confined  air.  Let  us  mount  to  the  top  of  the 
Minster,  to  that  vast  platform  where  our  youthful  band  often  as- 
sembled with  glass  in  hand  to  salute  the  setting  sun.*  There 
we  often  suspended  our  conversation,  to  indulge  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  landscape  before  us.  Here  we  used  to  exercise 
our  powers  of  vision.  Each  endeavoured  to  discover  the  most 
distant  objects  ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of  a  good  telescope, 
we  examined  one  after  another  the  places  which  pleased  us 
most.  There  was  a  little  canton  which  possessed  a  secret 
charm  to  me,  although  it  was  not  remarkable  in  this  magnificent 
scene.  On  these  occasions  the  accounts  we  gave  each  other 
excited  our  curiosity  ;  we  often  planned  little  excursions,  and 
sometimes  even  carried  our  schemes  into  immediate  effect. 

Dear  and  delightful  Sesenheim,  with  what  pleasure  did  I  re- 
turn to  thy  fertile,  smiling  plain,  with  my  friend  Wieland,  after 
having  visited  the  heights  of  the  Vosges  in  one  of  these  unpre- 
meditated tours  !  The  beauty  of  the  country  attracted  my  eyes, 
but  was  far  from  occupying  my  thoughts.  I  thought  only  of  the 
happiness  of  approaching  a  young  person  to  whom  my  heart 
was  wholly  devoted,  and  whom  I  found  equally  worthy  of  my 
esteem  and  love.  Before  I  enter  this  rural  asylum  with  my 
friend,  let  me  state  the  circumstances  that  gave  rise  to  this  tender 
attachment,  increased  its  ardour,  and  doubled  the  happiness 
which  it  procured  me. 

Fron*  the  manner  in  which  I  had  recently  spent  my  time  at 
Frankfort,  and  from  the  nature  of  the  studies  in  which  1  had 
engaged  when  there,  it  may  easily  be  conceived  that  I  was  much 
in  arrear  with  respect  to  the  knowledge  of  new  works.  My  oc- 
cupations at  Strasburg  had  not  permitted  me  to  fill  up  this  blank 
previously  to  the  commencement  of  my  acquaintance  with  Her- 

*  By  a  fine  setting  sun  the  mountains  of  the  Jura  may  be  clearly  distinguished 
from  the  top  of  the  cathedral  of  Strasburg  ;  and  the  chain  of  the  Alps  and  Mont- 
blanc  may  even  be  perceived  as  grayish  points  at  a  very  remote  distance. — Ed, 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


155 


der  ;  and  I  found  his  conversation  very  useful  in  making  me 
acquainted  with  the  most  modern  compositions.  Among  these 
productions  he  pointed  out  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  as  an  excel- 
lent work,  and  he  himself  read  it  to  us  in  the  German  transla- 
tion. 

He  had  a  very  peculiar  manner  of  reading,  of  which  those 
who  have  heard  him  preach  may  form  an  idea.  He  read  every 
thing,  and  even  this  romance,  in  a  grave  and  simple  tone.  Averse 
to  all  dramatic  imitation,  he  avoided  not  only  the  variety  of 
accents  allowable  and  proper  in  the  reading  of  a  narrative,  but 
even  that  slight  change  in  intonation  which  marks  what  one  says, 
and  distinguishes  the  narrator  from  the  personages.  From  the 
mouth  of  Herder,  every  thing  flowed  on  in  a  uniform  tone,  but 
without  monotony,  as  if  no  actors  had  been  supposed  present, 
and  all  had  been  narration.  One  would  have  thought  that  these 
imaginary  beings  did  not  act  on  his  mind  like  living  personages, 
and  only  flitted  gently  by  him  like  faint  shadows.  Yet  this  man- 
ner of  reading  had  an  inconceivable  charm  in  hi3  mouth  ;  for 
deeply  sensible  as  he  was  of  the  interest  of  every  part  of  a  work, 
capable  of  appreciating  all  the  value  of  the  variety  that  pre- 
vailed in  it,  he  made  the  merit  of  any  production  the  more  con- 
spicuous, by  taking  care  not  to  distract  his  audience  by  the  skill 
evinced  in  the  details,  or  to  destroy  the  impression  of  the  whole 
by  the  disproportionate  force  of  particular  passages. 

A  protestant  clergyman  is  perhaps  the  finest  subject  for  a  mo- 
dern Idyl  that  can  be  found.  He  appears,  like  Melchizedec,  to 
combine  the  characters  of  priest  and  king.  Devoted  to  agri- 
culture, the  most  innocent  of  all  terrestrial  conditions  of  man, 
he  is  almost  always  engaged  in  the  same  occupations,  and  con- 
fined to  the  circle  of  his  family  connexions.  He  is  a  father,  a 
master,  and  a  cultivator  ;  and,  by  the  union  of  these  characters, 
a  true  member  of  society.  On  these  worldly  but  pure  and  noble 
foundations,  his  higher  vocation  rests.  To  him  belongs  the  pri- 
vilege of  guiding  man  in  the  path  of  life,  of  conferring  his  spi- 
ritual education,  of  sanctify  ing  all  the  remarkable  periods  of  his 
existence,  of  instructing,  fortifying,  and  consoling  him  ;  and 
when  the  consolations  of  his  present  state  become  insufficient, 
of  revealing  to  him  the  hopes  of  a  more  favourable  hereafter. 
Let  us  imagine  such  a  man,  animated  by  the  purified  sentiments 
of  humanity,  strong  enough  not  to  sink  under  the  pressure  of 
any  event,  and  thus  rising  above  the  crowd,  of  whom  neither 
purity  nor  firmness  can  be  expected  :  let  us  ascribe  to  him  the 
qualities  necessary  for  his  functions,  perfect  serenity,  indefati- 
gable activity,  characterized  by  the  anxious  wish  not  to  lose  a 
moment  in  doing  good, — and  we  shall  have  the  model  of  a  good 
pastor. 

Add  to  this  the  necessity  not  only  of  living  within  a  narrow 
circle,  but  of  passing  occasionally  into  a  circle  still  inferior.  Let 
us  endow  him  with  a  good  humour,  a  forgiving  temper,  con= 


1.56 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


ètancy,  and  all  the  qualities  which  distinguish  a  decided  charac* 
ter.  Let  him  also  possess  excessive  indulgence,  and  a  degree 
of  patience  in  enduring  the  faults  of  others  which  affects  the 
heart,  and  yet  provokes  laughter  ;  and  we  shall  have  a  perfect 
representation  of  our  excellent  pastor  of  Wakefield. 

The  picture  of  this  character  in  the  course  of  the  pleasures 
and  pains  of  life,  the  still  increasing  interest  of  the  fable,  by  the 
union  of  what  is  natural  with  what  is  uncommon  and  singular, 
make  this  romance  one  of  the  best  that  has  ever  been  written. 
It  has  likewise  the  great  advantage  of  being  completely  moral,  and 
even  Christian,  in  the  purest  sense  ;  for  it  represents  probity  re- 
warded, and  perseverance  in  virtue  strengthened  by  perfect 
confidence  in  God.  It  confirms  belief  in  the  final  triumph  of 
good  over  evil  ;  and  all  without  any  tincture  of  bigotry  or  pe- 
dantry. The  antipathy  of  the  author  to  these  two  vices  appears 
from  time  to  time  in  ironical  passages  full  of  sense  and  humour. 
Goldsmith  unquestionably  penetrated  deep  into  the  beauties  as 
well  as  the  deformities  of  ihe  moral  world  ;  but  he  is  also  much 
indebted  to  his  English  birth,  and  to  the  opportunities  afforded 
him  by  the  manners  of  his  nation.  The  family  he  has  chosen 
for  the  subject  of  his  descriptions  is  one  of  the  inferior  degrees 
of  civil  life,  and  is  nevertheless  in  contact  with  the  great.  In 
all  its  poverty,  which  still  increases,  it  remains  connected  with 
the  wealthy.  Its  little  bark  floats  amidst  the  stormy  billows  of 
social  life  in  England,  sometimes  aided  and  sometimes  ill  used 
by  the  immense  fleet  which  navigates  around  it. 

When  Herder  read  this  work  to  us  he  blamed  the  excessive 
sensibility  that  overpowered  me  at  every  page.  1  felt  as  a  man, 
and  a  young  man.  All  was  to  me  true,  living,  and  present.  As 
to  him,  who  considered  only  the  character  and  form  of  the  work, 
he  saw  clearly  that  I  was  swayed  by  the  interest  of  the  subject  ; 
and  of  this  he  did  not  approve.  Peglow's  reflections,  which 
were  none  of  the  most  ingenious,  were  still  worse  received. 
But  what  Herder  found  most  fault  with  was  our  want  of  saga- 
city, in  not  being  able  to  foresee  the  events  which  the  author 
meant  to  bring  about,  the  contrasts  he  intended  to  exhibit.  It 
was  evident  that  a  book  was  in  his  view  nothing  but  a  production 
of  art,  and  that  he  wished  us  to  look  upon  it  only  in  the  same 
light  ;  but  we  were  at  a  period  of  life  in  which  it  is  very  excu- 
sable to  allow  works  of  art  to  affect  us  in  the  same  manner  as 
those  of  nature. 

The  reading  of  this  work  had  produced  a  strong  impression  on 
my  mind  :  I  found  myself,  almost  without  observing  it,  in  that 
disposition  to  ironical  indifference  which  exalts  us  above  prospe- 
rity and  adversity,  death  and  life  ;  a  disposition  which  renders  it 
so  easy  to  create  a  truly  poetical  world  of  our  own.  But  I  little 
expected  to  be  shortly  transported  from  this  imaginary  world  to 
a  real  one  exactly  similar  to  it. 

My  table-companion.  Wieland,  enlivened  his  tranquil  and 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE» 


ÎÔ7 


busy  life  by  occasional  visits  to  that  part  of  Alsace  in  which  he 
was  born,  in  order  to  see  his  relations  and  friends.  During  my 
little  excursions  he  several  times  did  me  the  favour  of  introdu- 
cing me  to  agreeable  families.  He  had  often  mentioned  a  cler- 
gyman who  lived  about  six  leagues  from  Strasburg-  in  the  vici- 
nity of  Drusenheim,  where  he  possessed  a  very  good  curacy,  with 
a  very  intelligent  wife,  and  two  amivibie  daughters.  Wieland 
was  always  praising  the  hospitality  and  pleasantness  of  this  house. 
This  was  more  than  sufficient  to  attract  a  young  cavalier,  already 
accustomed  to  devote  his  leisure  days  and  hours  to  such  excur- 
sions. We  therefore  made  an  engagement  to  visit  this  place  ; 
and  it  was  agreed  between  my  friend  and  me  that  he  was  to  say 
neither  good  nor  harm  of  me,  that  he  should  seem  indifferent 
respecting  me,  and  that  I  should  appear,  if  not  ill-dressed,  at 
least  in  a  negligent  costume,  by  no  means  indicative  of  opu- 
lence. He  himself  expected  some  amusement  from  this  mas- 
querade. 

To  lay  aside,  occasionally,  external  advantages,  in  order  to 
give  more  scope  to  the  influence  of  personal  character,  is  a  whim 
which  may  be  excused  in  eminent  personages.  The  incognito 
of  princes  and  the  adventures  it  produces  are  always  very  in- 
teresting :  they  are  disguised  divinities  who  feel  more  sensi- 
bly the  good  that  is  done  them  whilst  they  are  thus  unknown, 
and  who  can  easily  tolerate  or  escape  from  any  circumstances 
that  are  disagreeable.  It  seems  natural  enough  that  Jupiter 
should  amuse  himself  with  Philemon  and  Baucis  ;  or  Henry  the 
Fourth,  after  his  hunting  party,  among  his  peasants  ;  and  they 
are  admired  for  it  :  but  that  a  young  man  without  name  or  im- 
portance should  expect  to  derive  any  pleasure  from  an  incog- 
nito, will,  no  doubt,  appear  to  many  an  unpardonable  piece  of 
presumption.  But  as  my  business  is  to  give  a  true  account,  ra- 
ther than  to  discuss  the  merit  of  the  sentiments  and  actions  I 
have  to  relate,  I  hope  my  readers  will  pardon  my  caprice  for 
this  once  ;  particularly  as  I  can  offer  an  excuse  for  it  of  some 
little  weight,  which  is,  that  from  my  infancy,  my  father,  grave 
as  he  was,  had  encouraged  my  taste  for  masquerading. 

I  had  so  well  disguised  myself  by  the  help  of  old  and  borrow- 
ed clothes,  and  the  arrangement  of  my  hair,  that  my  friend 
could  not  help  laughing  on  the  road  ;  particularly  at  my  perfect 
imitation  of  the  air,  the  gestures,  and  awkward  horsemanship  of 
those  poor  devils  who  are  called  in  Germany  Latin  travellers.  A 
beautiful  road,  delightful  weather,  and  the  vicinity  of  the  Rhine, 
put  us  in  excellent  spirits.  We  made  a  short  halt  at  Drusen- 
heim ;  my  friend  to  dress  himself,  and  I  to  rehearse  my  charac- 
ter. This  country  is  one  of  the  fine  plains  of  Alsace.  We 
amused  ourselves  in  galloping  over  its  verdant  meadows.  On 
reaching  Sesenheim,  we  left  our  horses  at  the  inn,  and  proceed- 
ed towards  the  parsonage-house.  Do  not  imagine."  said  Wie- 
land, pointing  out  the  house  at  a  distance,  tc  that  this  is  a  poor 


158 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


cottage,  "  as  the  outside  seems  to  indicate  :  you  will  find  the  in- 
terior the  more  agreeable."  We  entered  the  fore-court.  The 
appearance  of  this  habitation  pleased  me  much.  It  reminded 
me  of  those  picturesque  situations,  with  which  I  had  been  so 
highly  pleased  in  the  works  of  the  Flemish  masters  ;  but  it  bore 
evident  marks  of  antiquity  ;  the  house,  barn,  and  stable  were 
all  in  that  equivocal  state  which  characterizes  every  building 
that  cannot  be  preserved,  and  has  not  been  repaired  or  rebuilt. 

The  house  like  the  rest  of  the  village,  was  quiet.  We  found 
the  rector  alone  ;  the  whole  family  was  in  the  fields.  My  friend 
went  out  to  meet  the  ladies,  and  1  remained  alone  with  our  host. 
"  You  are  perhaps  surprised,"  said  he,  '  to  find  me  so  ill  accom- 
modated, in  a  rich  village,  and  with  a  pretty  good  place  :  it  is 
owing  to  indecision.  The  commune  and  my  superiors  promise 
to  have  the  house  rebuilt.  Several  plans  have  already  been 
drawn,  tried,  and  changed  ;  and  this  state  of  uncertainty  has  al- 
ready lasted  so  long  that  my  patience  is  almost  exhausted."  To 
these  words  he  added  a  very  original  picture  of  the  characters 
he  had  to  deal  with,  and  thus  gave  me  to  understand  how  it  hap- 
pened that  the  parsonage  house  was  not  yet  rebuilt.  There  was 
this  peculiarity  in  the  confidence  he  was  placing  in  me,  that  he 
spoke  to  me  as  to  a  man  whom  he  had  known  ten  years,  without 
appearing  to  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  my  person.  My  friend 
returned  with  the  rector's  wife  :  she  seemed  to  observe  me 
more  closely,  Her  features  were  regular,  and  her  physiognomy 
bespoke  great  intelligence.  Sue  must  have  been  handsome 
when  young.  There  was  nothing  disagreeable  in  her  present 
thinness,  caused  by  the  lapse  of  years  ;  and,  when  her  back  was 
turned,  she  might  still  have  been  taken  for  a  young  woman. 
The  elder  of  the  sisters  came  running  in,  and  asked  for  her  sis- 
ter Frcderica  :  the  father  said  he  had  not  seen  her,  and  she  went 
out  again  to  seek  her. 

She  returned  in  haste,  vexed  at  not  having  found  her  sister. 
Every  one  expressed  impatience  to  know  what  had  become  of 
her.  Her  father  alone,  maintaining  a  calm  demeanour,  pacified 
his  wife  and  elder  daughter,  by  declaring  that  Frederica  would 
speedily  return  ;  and  in  fact  she  entered  at  that  very  moment, 
she  seemed  a  favourite  star  whose  return  gladdened  this  little 
terrestrial  paradise.  The  two  young  ladies  were  dressed  in  the 
German  fashion  ;  and  this  national  costume  became  the  amiable 
Frederica  wonderfully  well.  She  wore  a  white,  short,  round 
gown,  ornamented  with  a  falbelas,  which  half  exposed  to  view 
a  taper  leg  and  most  delicate  little  foot.  A  white  corset  fitted 
her  shape,  and  a  black  taffety  apron  completed  her  half  village 
and  half  city  dress.  Slender  and  light,  she  walked  >s  if  she  had 
nothing  to  carry  ;  and  yet  her  neck  appeared  almost  too  deli- 
cate to  support  the  weight  of  the  tresses  of  light  hair  which 
adorned  her  beautiful  head.  Her  blue  eyes  gazed  around  with 
an  expression  of  gayety  ;  and  her  nose  had  a  curve  which 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


15$ 


seemed  to  mock  all  care,  as  if  it  had  been  a  total  stranger  to  this 
world.  I  was  instantly  sensible  of  her  attractions  and  love- 
liness. 

I  soon  got  acquainted  with  the  whole  family,  for  the  young  la- 
dies began  a  very  lively  conversation  respecting  their  relations, 
friends,  and  uncles  ;  and  by  means  of  this  magic  lantern,  which 
exhibited  a  swarm  of  uncles,  aunts,  and  acquaintance,  1  might 
soon  have  fancied  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  numerous  and  bust- 
ling crowd,  Each  of  the  family  had  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  me  :  Frederica  was  the  first  to  enter  into  a  regular  conver- 
sation. Seeing  me  looking  at  some  pieces  of  music  which  I 
found  lying  open,  she  asked  if  i  played  the  harpsichord  j  and 
On  my  answering  in  the  affirmative,  she  handed  me  a  piece  to 
perform  :  but  her  father  would  not  allow  it,  saying  it  was  his 
daughters' duty  first  to  play  something  in  honour  of  their  guests. 

Frederica  began  without  further  entreaty,  and  displayed  all 
the  talent  that  is  to  be  acquired  in  the  country.  She  attempted 
to  sing  a  languishing  and  melancholy  air  ;  but  finding  its  expres- 
sion unsuitable  to  her,  she  rose,  and  said  laughing,  "  When  we 
take  a  walk  we  shall  hear  some  of  our  pretty  Alsatian  songs, 
which  arc  much  better  than  this." 

At  supper  I  was  so  absent  that  I  sat  pensive  and  dumb,  ex- 
cept when  the  vivacity  of  the  elder  girl,  or  the  kindness  of  the 
younger,  broke  my  reveries.  Every  thing  seemed  combined  to 
exhibit  the  family  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  to  me  in  the  liveli- 
est colours.  The  rector  himself,  indeed,  would  not  altogether 
bear  comparison  with  that  excellent  man  ;  but  where  were  we 
to  look  for  the  equal  of  Primrose  ?  But  all  the  dignity  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house  was  to  be  found  in  our  hostess  :  it  was  im- 
possible to  observe  her  without  paying,  a  tribute  of  respect  to 
the  calmness,  freedom,  and  attractiveness  of  her  manners. 

Although  the  elder  of  the  two  girls  did  not  possess  all  the  beauty 
of  Olivia,  she  was  tall  and  well  shaped  :  she  had  all  the  vivaci- 
ty and  activit)  of  her  prototype,  and  wa>  always  ready  to  sup- 
port her  mother.  It  wag  easy  to  recognise  in  Frederica  the 
amiable  Sophia  Primrose.  The  rector's  condition  in  life,  the 
situation  of  his  family,  the  conversation,  a  id  ev»a  some  of  the 
circumstances,  ail  bore  the  same  character  of  resemblance.  At 
length,  when  the  youngest  of  the  rector's  children,  his  son,  ran 
into  the  room  and  sat  down  among  us.  almost  without  noticing 
the  new  guests,  I  was  very  near  crying  out  "  What  !  Moses 
too  !" 

During  supper,  several  pleasant  anecdotes  were  related  in  the 
course  of  convocation.  Frederica  beside  whom  I  sat,  took 
occasion  from  them  to  describe  the  different  places  which  had 
been  mentioned,  and  which  were  worth  ^eing.  One  little  story 
produced  another,  and  I  joined  in  this  chat  by  furnishing  my 
share  of  the  same  kind  of  discourse.  As  f  :egood  home-made 
wine  was  not  spared,  I  should  have  been  in  danger  of  forgetting 


160 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


the  character  I  had  undertaken  to  support,  if  my  prudent  friend 
had  not  seized  the  pretext  of  a  fine  moonlight  to  propose  a  walk. 
He  offered  his  arm  to  the  elder  of  the  two  sisters  ;  1  took  that 
of  the  younger  ;  and  we  walked  across  the  meadow,  more  occu- 
pied with  the  sky  which  glittered  above  our  heads  than  with  the 
country  before  us.  Frederica's  conversation,  however,  did  not 
appear  to  be  inspired  by  the  moonlight.  Nothing  she  said  indi- 
cated or  could  excite  sensibility.  She  seemed,  however,  to  pay 
particular  attention  to  me,  endeavouring  as  much  as  possible  to 
make  me  acquainted  with  the  country,  and  her  own  connexions. 
All  who  have  once  visited  us.  added  she,  have  returned  to  see 
us.    She  hoped  i  should  not  prove  an  exception. 

I  enjoyed  in  silence  the  description  she  gave  me  of  the  li+tle 
world  in  which  she  lived,  and  her  portraits  of  the  persons  whom 
she  most  valued.  She  represented  her  own  situation  in  so  clear 
and  pleasing  a  manner,  that  it  produced  a  singular  effect  upon 
me.  I  begaii  to  regret  deeply  that  1  had  not  sooner  lived  in  the 
sphere  which  surrounded  her  ;  a  d  I  felt  at  the  same  time  a  pain- 
ful emotion  of  jealousy  in  thinking  of  those  who  had  enjoyed 
the  pleasure  of  beiug  acquainted  with  her.  i  rigidly  examined 
all  she  told  me  respecting  her  male  friends,  cousins,  and  neigh- 
bours, as  if  i  had  had  a  right  to  do  so,  exercising  my  ingenuity  in 
Conjectures  first  on  one,  and  then  on  another  ;  but  nothing  could  I 
discover,  for  all  her  friends  were  utterly  unknown  to  me.  She 
still  grew  more  talkative,  and  I  more  silent.  The  darkness  of 
night  deprived  nruj  of  the  sight  of  her  face  as  well  as  of  that  of 
nature.  Ï  was  alone  with  her  voice,  as  it  were,  and  listened  in  a 
delightful  trance  to  the  charming  and  ingenuous  prattle  in  which 
the  sweetness  and  purity  of  her  character  appeared  at  every 
word. 

W  hen  Wieland  and  I  retired  into  a  spare  bed-room  which 
had  been  prepared  for  us,  he  began  to  rally  .  e  on  the  surprise 
he  had  caused  me  by  bringing  me  into  the  midst  of  a  family 
which  -vas  the  very  image  of  the  Pi  v  ..roses  ;  and  I  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  circumstance,  whilst  1  expressed  my  grati- 
tude. tk  Come,"  said  he,  "  the  romance  goes  oi  well.  We  may 
iiov  fancy  ourselves  at  Wakefield  ;  and  your  lordship,  disguised 
as  you  are.  may  perform  the  part  of  burcheil.  But  as  in  real  life 
we  have  no  occasion  for  the  villain?  of  romance,  I  shaii  underbiKC 
the  character  of  the  nephew,  but  mean  to  conduct  myself  bet- 
ter. 5  then  asked  if  Frederica  had  ved,  if  she  had  now  any 
particular  inclination,  or  was  engaged.  He  gave  me  satisfactory 
answers  to  all  my  inquiries.  I  thank  you,  I  repiied  ;  for  if  she 
had  regained  her  indifference  after  the  loss  of  a  lover,  or  if  she 
had  been  promised  to  another,  I  would  instantly  have  ceased  to 
think  of  her. 

Although  our  conversation  lasted  a  great  part  of  the  night,  Î 
awoke  at  dawn  of  day.  1  was  impatient  to  see  her  again  ;  it 
seemed  that  nothing  could  prevent  me  :  but,  as  I  was  getting  up, 


MEMei&S  OP  GOETHE, 


161 


I  turned  pale  at  the  sight  of  the  detestable  costume  in  which  I 
had  so  unluckily  wrapped  myself.  I  might,  indeed,  have  dress- 
ed my  hair  better  than  the  preceding  day  ;  but  1  felt  dreadfully- 
uneasy  under  the  old  great  coat  I  had  borrowed,  the  short  sleeves 
of  which  gave  me  the  most  grotesque  appearance. 

Whilst  I  was  thus  enraged  with  my  dress,  my  friend,  who  was 
now  awake,  was  admiring  his  own  line  silk  surtout,  in  all  the 
complacency  of  a  conscience  guiltless  of  all  disguise.  1  had 
watched  it  with  envious  eyes  as  it  hung  spread  out  on  the  back 
of  a  chair  :  had  it  fitted  me  I  would  have  seized  it  ;  Wieland 
would  have  been  good-natured  enough  to  put  on  my  old  rags  ; 
and  our  comedy  would  have  been  brought  to  a  pleasant  denoue- 
ment the  same  morning.  But  unluckily  this  exchange  was  im- 
possible. It  was  equally  impossible  for  me  to  think  of  appear- 
ing before  Frederica,  in  the  old  frock  of  a  poor  student  in  the- 
ology ;  and  thus  a  second  time  deceive  her,  who  had  the  preced- 
ing day  treated  me  with  such  peculiar  kindness,  notwithstand- 
ing my  disguise.  Whilst  I  thus  stood  undetermined  and  pon- 
dering, Wieland,  stretched  at  his  ease  in  bed,  said  calmly,  "  Upon 
my  word,  that  is  a  very  wretched  dress  of  yours." — 44  Well," 
replied  J,  "  I  know  what  to  do  :  farewell  ;  make  my  excuses  to 
the  family." — "  Are  you  mad  ?"  cried  my  friend,  jumping  out  of 
bed  to  detain  me.  But  I  had  cleared  the  staircase,  the  house, 
and  the  fore-court  in  a  twinkling  :  I  saddled  my  horse,  threw 
myself  on  his  back,  and  galloped  off  furiously  towards  Drusen- 
heim. 

I  soon  felt  how  dear  it  cost  me  to  leave  the  house.  I  thought 
of  the  charming  walk  of  the  preceding  day,  and  the  delightful 
hope  I  had  formed  of  seeing  Frederica  again.  The  wish  to 
realize  that  hope  soon  inspired  me  with  a  fortunate  idea.  I  had 
remarked  on  that  day,  at  the  inn  at  Drusenheim,  that  the  land- 
lord's son,  who  was  extremely  well-dressed,  was  of  my  own  size. 
My  scheme  was  no  sooner  conceived  than  executed.  I  returned 
to  Drusenheim,  ran  to  the  stable,  and  proposed  to  the  young  man 
to  lend  me  his  clothes  for  the  purpose  of  a  little  pleasantry  I 
wished  to  play  off  at  Sesenheim.  1  had  not  much  difficulty  in 
persuading  him  :  he  readily  consented  to  my  request,  applauding 
me  for  contriving  a  surprise  to  divert  the  young  ladies  at  the 
parsonage  ;  they  were  so  good,  so  amiable,  he  said,  particularly 
Mademoiselle  Frederica.  Whilst  we  were  talking  we  changed 
our  clothes.  Mine  were  not  a  very  sufficient  pledge  for  his  fine 
Sunday  suit  ;  but  he  had  confidence  in  me,  and  my  horse  in  his 
stable.  When  I  had  adorned  myself  at  his  expense,  I  embraced 
him  ;  and  the  worthy  fellow  seemed  to  admire  himself  in  his 
twin  brother.  I  dressed  my  hair  nearly  in  the  manner  of  his  5 
and  I  thought  it  as  well  to  increase  the  resemblance  by  black- 
ening my  eyebrows.  When  he  presented  me  his  hat  adorned 
with  ribbons,  "  Have  you  nothing  to  send  to  the  parsonage  ?" 
said  I. — "  Yes-?'  said  he,  "  but  you  would  have  to  wait  two 


162 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


hours  ;  for  it  will  take  that  time  to  bake  a  cake  which  I  snail 
take  the  liberty  to  offer  to  the  rector's  wife,  and  which  you 
might  carry  with  you."  1  resolved  to  wait  these  two  everlasting 
hours.  At  length  1  received  the  cake,  and  set  out  in  haste  ;  the 
sun  shining  brightly,  and  1  proud  of  my  passport,  and  escorted 
part  of  the  way  by  my  new  brother. 

1  carried  my  present,  nicely  wrapped  up  in  a  napkin.  Be- 
fore I  had  proceeded  far,  I  perceived  at  a  distance  my  friend 
with  the  two  young  ladies,  who  were  advancing  to  meet  me.  My 
heart  beat  as  if  uneasy  under  this  disguise.  I  stopped  to  take 
breath,  considering  how  1  should  present  myself.  The  party 
approached.  Frederica,  who  had  seen  me  at  a  distance,  said, 
" George,  what  are  you  carrying?"  1  took  off  my  hat,  with 
which  I  concealed  my  face,  lifting  up  my  packet  that  she  might 
see  it. — "A  cake!"  cried  she,  46  how  is  your  sister?"  "Very 
well,"  said  1,  endeavouring  to  imitate  the  accent  of  Alsace. 
"  Carry  that  to  the  house,"  said  the  elder  sister,  "  and  wait  for 
us  ;  we  shall  return  presently."  At  these  words  1  hastened  on, 
and  soon  reached  the  parsonage.  I  found  nobody  at  home  ;  and 
presuming  that  the  rector  was  busy  in  his  closet,  1  sat  down  on 
a  bench  before  the  door,  and  pulled  my  hat  over  my  eyes. 

I  do  not  recollect  that  1  ever  felt  more  happy.  I  found  myself 
once  more  seated  by  that  house  whence  a  few  hours  before  I 
had  departed  almost  in  despair,  expecting  a  long  and  sad  sepa- 
ration. I  had  already  seen  my  beloved  once  more,  and  heard 
her  sweet  voice.  I  expected  her  every  moment  ;  I  well  knew 
that  I  should  be  discovered,  but  the  discovery  could  not  disgrace 
me.  My  manner  of  introducing  myself  was  as  good  a  jest  as 
any  of  those  which  we  had  laughed  at  the  preceding  day.  Love 
and  necessity  are  the  best  of  instructers  ;  they  had  acted  in  con- 
cert, and  their  pupil  had  profited  by  their  lessons.  The  servant 
returned  home,  and  went  into  the  house  without  recognising  me. 
The  rector  came  to  the  window  ;  taking  me  for  George,  he  re- 
commended me  not  to  depart  without  some  refreshment.  So  far 
all  was  right  ;  when  left  to  myself  I  sighed  at  the  thought  of  the 
approaching  return  of  the  young  folks.  But  on  a  sudden,  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  passing  near  me,  recognised  my  face 
which  I  had  not  time  to  conceal  with  my  hat. — "  1  thought  to 
find  George,"  said  she,  after  a  momentary  silence  :  "  and  it  is 
you,  young  gentleman  :  how  many  forms  have  you  at  command 
then  ?" — "  1  have  but  one,"  I  replied,  "  for  any  serious  purpose  ; 
but  in  order  to  amuse  you  I  would  assume  as  many  as  you 
please." — "  I  will  not  betray  you,"  said  she,  laughing  ;  "  but 
walk  aside  for  a  moment,  for  the  young  ones  are  returning, 
and  I  will  assist  you  in  your  frolic."  I  withdrew,  walking  to- 
wards a  little  wood  that  crowned  a  neighbouring  height.  On 
reaching  this  spot  a  delightful  landscape  suddenly  burst  on  my 
view.  On  one  side  were  the  village  and  church  of  Sesenheim  ; 
on  the  other,  Drusenheim,  and  the  wooded  isles  of  the  Rhine  : 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


163 


in  front  the  mountains  of  the  Vosges  ;  and  lastly,  the  lofty  spire 
of  Strasburg  cathedral.  Seated  on  one  of  the  benches  with 
which  this  walk  was  furnished,  1  ^marked  on  the  largest  tree  a 
little  tablet  bearing  this  inscription  :  "  Fredericks  Repose."  J 
did  not  imagine  that  my  arrival  in  this  asylum  chosen  by  her 
could  possibly  disturb  this  repose  ;  for  a  rising  passion  is  as 
incapable  of  foreseeing  the  future  as  of  accounting  for  its  own 
origin  :  its  peculiar  privilege  is  to  enjoy  the  present  fully,  and 
with  a  relish  that  banishes  every  unfavourable  presage. 

I  was  just  yielding  myself  up  to  my  pleasing  meditations,  when 
I  heard  footsteps  :  it  was  Frederica  herself. — "  George,"  cried 
she,  as  she  approached,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  then  ?" 
"  It  is  not  George,"  1  replied,  darting  towards  her;  "  it  is  one 
who  asks  a  thousand  pardons!"  She  looked  at  me  with  aston- 
ishment, but  immediately  recovered  herself  and  said,  with  a  deep 
sigh:  "Malicious  creature,  how  you  have  frightened  me!" — ■ 
"  My  first  masquerade,"  I  replied,  "  led  to  this  one,  and  you 
will  no  doubt  excuse  my  present  disguise,  since  it  reminds  you 
of  one  whom  you  treat  with  kindness."  Her  face,  which  had 
turned  somewhat  pale,  was  now  tinged  with  the  most  beautiful 
colour.  "  You  shall  not,  at  any  rate,  be  less  welcome  than 
George,"  said  she.  "  Your  friend  has  told  us  ail  that  occurred 
up  to  the  moment  of  your  departure.  Let  me  hear  the  rest  of 
your  adventures."  1  then  described  to  her  my  perplexity  about 
my  first  costume,  and  my  flight,  in  so  comical  a  manner  that  she 
laughed  heartily.  The  rest  1  told  her  with  the  reserve  which 
her  modesty  required  ;  but  with  expressions  sufficiently  pas» 
sionate  to  pass  in  any  romance  for  a  declaration  of  love.  I  con- 
eluded,  after  expressing  to  her  all  the  pleasure  I  felt  at  seeing 
her  again,  by  kissing  her  hand,  which  she  did  not  withdraw  from 
mine.  1  know  not  how  long  we  had  remained  thus  beside  each 
other,  when  we  suddenly  heard  Frederica  called  several  times  : 
it  was  the  voice  of  her  sister.  "  Come  nearer  me,"  said  my 
lovely  Frederica,  bending  in  order  to  conceal  me  in  part,  "  and 
turn  round  that  you  may  not  be  immediately  recognised."  At 
that  moment  her  sister  came  up.  Wieland  accompanied  her, 
and  both,  on  seeing  us,  stood  as  if  petrified. 

The  surprise  and  terror  one  feels  at  suddenly  seeing  a  raging 
fire  burst  from  a  peaceful  roof,  are  not  to  be  compared  to  the 
consternation  that  seizes  us  at  the  unexpected  sight  of  what  we 
deemed  morally  impossible.  "  What  means  this  ?"  cried  the 
elder  sister,  affrighted  ;  "you  with  George  !  your  hands  clasped 
in  each  other's  !"  "  Dear  sister,  "  answered  Frederica,  in  a 
pensive  tone,  "  the  poor  youth  implores  my  pity,  he  will  sue  for 
yours  too  ;  but  you  must  pardon  him  at  once." — "  1  do  not  un- 
derstand it  at  all,"  replied  her  sister,  shaking  her  head  and 
looking  at  Wieland,  who,  in  his  usual  manner,  remained  calm, 
and  observed  the  scene  before  him  without  betraying  any  emo- 
tion.    Frederica  now  rose,  and  leading  me  forward,  said, 


164 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHË. 


li  Come,  fear  nothing,  your  pardon  is  granted." — "  Yes,**  said 
Î,  approaching  her  sister,  "  I  stand  in  need  of  your  pardon." 
She  drew  back,  uttered  a  cry,  and  turned  as  red  as  fire  ;  then 
threw  herself  on  the  grass,  and  began  to  laugh  immoderately. 
Wieland,  also  laughing,  exclaimed,  "  You  are  an  excellent 
youth  !"  and  shook  me  by  the  hand  several  times  in  the  most 
affectionate  manner. 

After  mutual  explanations  we  took  our  way  towards  the  vil- 
lage. As  we  approached  the  garden,  Frederica  and  I  entered 
it  first.  Olivia,  for  that  is  the  name  1  shall  henceforth  give  to 
the  elder  of  the  two  sisters,  called  the  servant  to  speak  to  her, 
and  leaving  me  at  a  distance,  went  towards  her.  The  girl  was 
pretty.  Olivia  told  her  that  George  had  broken  off  with  Babet, 
and  wished  to  marry  her.  This  intelligence  did  not  seem  to  dis- 
please the  pretty  villager.  Olivia  then  called  me  to  confirm 
what  she  had  just  said.  The  poor  girl's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
ground  :  I  was  close  to  her  before  she  had  seen  me  ;  but  when 
she  looked  up  and  beheld  a  strange  face,  she  screamed  out  and 
took  to  flight.  Presently  afterward  Olivia  met  the  young  man 
who  was  in  love  with  his  fellow-servant,  repeated  to  him  that 
George  had  deserted  Babet,  that  he  was  to  marry  Lise,  and  that 
the  latter  was  very  well  pleased  with  the  arrangement.  "  I 
always  thought  it  would  be  so,*'  said  the  poor  lad  in  great  afflic- 
tion. 

I  had  induced  the  girl  to  return,  and  we  approached  the  lad, 
who  turned  away  and  wanted  to  escape  ;  but  Lise  detained  him, 
and  whilst  she  undeceived  him  we  proceeded  together  towards 
the  house.  Dinner  was  on  the  table,  and  the  rector  in  the  parlour  ; 
Olivia  made  me  walk  behind  her,  and  going  in,  asked  her 
father  if  he  would  allow  George  to  dine  with  them  that  day,  and 
keep  his  hat  on.  "  Oh  Î  by  all  means,''  said  the  rector.  She 
then  brought  me  forward,  and  I  kept  my  hat  on.  On  a  sudden 
she  pulled  it  off,  made  a  bow  and  a  scrape,  and  desired  me  to  do 
the  same.  The  rector  now  recognised  me,  and,  without  laying 
aside  his  sacerdotal  gravity,  cried  out,  menacing  me  with  his 
finger:  "Ah!  ha!  Mr.  Candidate,  you  have  soon  changed 
characters  ;  and  so  I  have  lost  an  assistant  that  yesterday  pro- 
mised he  would  often  take  my  place  in  the  pulpit.'*  He  laughed 
very  heartily  as  he  saluted  me,  and  we  sat  down  to  table.  It. 
was  some  time  before  Moses  came  in.  The  better  to  deceive 
him  I  had  been  placed,  not,  as  the  day  before,  between  the  two 
sisters,  but  at  the  end  of  the  table,  a  place  which  George  fre- 
quently occupied.  When  Moses  came  in  he  gave  me  a  pretty  hard 
slap  on  the  shoulder,  saying,  "  George,  I  wish  you  a  good  ap- 
petite."— "  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  I.  My  voice  and  strange 
countenance  seemed  at  first  to  astonish  him  ;  but  he  soon  reco- 
vered, ceased  to  look  at  me,  and  employed  himself  wholly  in 
making  up  for  lost  time.  After  dinner  the  real  George  arrived, 
which  only  rendered  the  scene  more  lively.  They  tried  to  make 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHE. 


165 


him  jealous  by  rallying  him  on  having  set  up  a  rival  to  himself  5 
but  he  was  not  deficient,  either  in  circumspection  or  address. 
He  made,  however,  such  a  strange  jumble  of  his  discourse,  by 
confounding  together  his  mistress,  his  counterfeit,  and  the  young 
ladies  of  the  house,  that  it  was  at  last  impossible  to  discover  of 
whom  he  was  talking,  and  they  were  obliged  to  leave  him  to  eat 
his  share  of  his  cake  in  tranquillity. 

After  dinner  the  father  retired  to  take  a  nap.  Mamma,  as 
usual,  was  engaged  in  the  affairs  of  her  household.  My  friend 
asked  me  to  relate  a  story.  I  consented.  We  retired  into  a 
pleasant  arbour,  and  I  recited  a  tale  1  have  since  written  under 
the  title  of  the  New  Melusina.  I  would  have  inserted  it  here, 
had  I  not  been  fearful  that  the  sallies  of  the  imagination  might 
destroy  the  effect  of  a  rural  scene,  the  simplicity  of  which  is  its 
only  merit.  1  obtained  the  tribute  which  usually  attends  the 
inventors  and  narrators  of  productions  of  this  kind.  To  excite 
interest,  to  captivate  the  attention,  to  charm  the  mind  by  the 
prompt  solution  of  an  enigma  which  appears  inexplicable,  to 
deceive  the  auditor's  expectation,  dazzle  him  by  a  rapid  suc- 
cession of  events,  still  increasing  in  singularity,  to  awaken  pity 
and  fear,  to  keep  his  attention  unwearied,  to  excite  emotion  ; 
and  finally,  to  satisfy  the  mind  by  explaining  the  apparently  se- 
rious mystery  of  the  narration  by  some  ingenious  pleasantry  ; 
to  present  new  pictures  to  the  imagination,  and  new  subjects  of 
mediiation  to  the  thoughts  ;  such  were  the  objects  of  my  compo- 
sition, such  the  effects  which  I  succeeded  in  producing. 

This  piece  would,  perhaps,  excite  surprise  were  it  one  day  to 
be  read  among  my  works  ;  but  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  every 
impression  of  this  kind  depends  upon  the  influence  the  narrator 
exercises  over  his  auditors.  To  write  is  to  disfigure  words.  A 
calm  and  solitary  perusal  is  a  poor  substitute  for  the  impression 
made  by  speech. 

I  inherited  from  my  father  a  certain  sort  of  eloquence  calcula- 
ted to  enforce  my  doctrines  to  my  auditors  ;  from  my  mother  I 
derived  the  faculty  of  representing  all  that  the  imagination  can 
conceive  with  energy  and  vivacity,  that  of  giving  an  air  of  no- 
velty to  known  inventions,  of  imagining  new  ones,  and  of  invent- 
ing as  I  went  on.  But  the  first  of  these  faculties  generally  made 
me  tiresome  to  the  company.  Where,  indeed,  is  the  man  who 
takes  pleasure  in  listening  to  the  ideas  and  opinions  of  another  ; 
particularly  if  that  other  be  a  young  man,  in  whose  judgment, 
not  sufficiently  enlightened  by  experience,  little  confidence  is  to 
be  placed  ?  My  mother  had  best  endowed  me  for  pleasing 
others.  The  most  futile  tale  has  its  charm  ;  and  the  slightest 
narration  is  listened  to  with  a  kind  of  gratitude. 

It  was  by  means  of  stories  which  cost  me  nothing  that  1  had 
acquired  the  love  of  children  ;  fixed  the  attention  of  young  peo- 
ple, by  amusing  them  5  and  attracted  that  of  persons  of  a  riper 
age.    In  society  it  is  often  necessary  to  relinquish  some  more  or 


166 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


ess  serious  exercise  of  the  mind,  which  is  not  practised  there, 
and  consequently  to  lose  an  enjoyment  and  a  useful  occupation. 
I  have,  however,  throughout  life,  retained  these  two  faculties, 
the  valuable  inheritance  bequeathed  to  me  by  the  authors  of  my 
being.  They  have  combined  themselves  with  a  third,  which 
arises  from  the  desire  I  feel  to  express  myself  by  comparisons 
and  figures.  It  was  with  reference  to  these  faculties,  which  the 
penetration  of  the  ingenious  Dr.  Gall  enabled  him  to  discover, 
that  he  declared  me  born  to  become  a  popular  orator.  This 
assertion  alarmed  me  not  a  little  ;  for  had  it  been  well-founded, 
as  my  nation  has  offered  me  no  opportuntty  of  exercising  this 
talent,  it  would  follow  that  every  thing  I  have  attempted  in 
other  pursuits  would  be  merely  the  productions  of  a  mind  whose 
original  vocation  had  been  frustrated. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  little  friendly  circle  to  which  I  had  related  my  romance 
was  delighted  with  it.  My  auditors  thought  it  combined  the 
marvellous  and  the  possible  in  a  very  scientific  manner  ;  and 
that  probability  was  very  well  preserved  in  it.  They  urged  me 
to  reduce  it  to  writing,  which  I  readily  promised  to  do,  since  it 
afforded  me  an  excellant  opportunity  of  renewing  my  visit,  and 
keeping  up  an  acquaintance  so  agreeable  to  me. 

On  returning  to  my  occupations,  I  found  myself  more  embar- 
rassed than  ever.  A  man  who  is  naturally  active  encumbers 
himself  with  too  many  undertakings,  and  pushes  on  until  some 
moral  or  physical  obstacle  warns  him  that  he  has  presumed  too 
far  upon  his  strength. 

I  applied  to  the  study  of  the  law  with  just  sufficient  attention 
to  enable  me  to  take  my  degrees  with  some  credit  to  myself.  I 
had  always  found  the  study  of  medicine  attractive,  and  was  at- 
tached to  it  both  by  example  and  habit.  Part  of  my  time  was 
devoted  to  society.  How  could  I  leave  off  my  visits  to  families 
in  which  I  had  been  treated  with  esteem  and  affection  ?  Still  I 
could  easily  have  attended  both  to  my  studies  and  my  friends, 
but  for  the  burthen  which  Herder  had  imposed  on  me.  He  had 
torn  away  the  veil  which  had  hidden  the  nakedness  of  our  litera- 
ture from  my  sight.  His  cruel  hand  had  uprooted  many  preju- 
dices which  had  hitherto  been  dear  to  me.  My  native  climate 
now  afforded  but  a  very  small  number  of  luminous  stars  ;  I  saw 
in  general  nothing  but  transient  glimmerings,  where  I  had 
thought  I  perceived  resplendent  planets.  He  had  almost  de- 
prived me  of  all  the  personal  hopes  with  which  I  flattered  my- 
self, yet  at  the  same  time  he  led  me  into  the  broad  and  maesni- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


167 


ficent  road  which  he  intended  to  travel  himself.  He  fixed  my 
attention  on  his  favourite  writers,  at  the  head  of  whom  he  pla- 
ced Swift  and  Hamann  ;  and  after  forcing  me  to  stoop,  he  endea- 
voured to  raise  me  again  with  a  vigorous  hand.  In  this  fermen- 
tation of  spirits,  the  invasion  of  a  new  passion  threatened  almost 
to  overthrow  my  reason.  A  physical  indisposition  attacked  me 
whilst  suffering  under  those  mental  disorders  ;  after  every  meal 
my  throat  seemed  stuffed  almost  to  choking.  Ï  afterwards  easily 
got  the  better  of  this  complaint,  by  abstaining  from  a  kind  of 
red  wine  which  was  drunk  at  our  table  d'hôte,  and  of  which 
I  used  to  be  fond.  I  had  not  experienced  this  tormenting  ail- 
ment at  Sesenheim,  which  increased  my  attachment  to  that  place. 
On  returning  to  town,  and  to  my  usual  mode  of  living  when 
there,  it  attacked  me  again,  to  my  great  affliction.  These  vexa- 
tions rendered  me  dejected  and  peevish  ;  and  my  internal  suffer- 
ings  visibly  affected  my  habits. 

I  was  still  attending  the  clinical  lectures.  We  were  all  at- 
tached to  our  venerable  professor,  whose  serenity  of  mind,  and 
constant  cheerfulness,  were  admirable.  He  made  us  observe 
the  sick,  and  pointed  out  the  symptoms  and  progress  of  theiv 
disorders.  He  inculcated  this  science  by  the  aid  of  experiments 
perfectly  in  the  style  of  Hippocrates.  This  was  quite  a  new  re- 
gion to  me  ;  and  his  lessons  exhibited  a  prospect  which  the  im- 
perfect light  that  I  saw  them  in,  rendered  the  more  agreeable  to 
me.  The  disgust  which  the  sick  occasioned  me  at  first,  dimi- 
nished in  proportion  as  Ï  learned,  by  examining  into  their  situa- 
tion, to  combine  ideas  which  enabled  me  to  perceive  the  possi- 
bility of  the  restoration  of  their  strength.  The  professor  con- 
sidered me  as  a  singular  young  man  ;  but  he  looked  with  indul 
gence  on  the  caprice  which  led  me  to  abandon  studies  of  a  to- 
tally different  nature,  in  order  to  attend  his  lectures.  He  con- 
cluded one  day,  not  as  on  former  occasions,  by  a  lesson  on  the 
text  of  some  disorder  previously  observed  by  us,  but  by  saying 
pleasantly  :  "  My  friends,  you  have  a  few  holidays  before  you  ; 
employ  them  in  recruiting  your  health.  Study  requires  not 
only  application  and  labour,  but  cheerfulness  and  freedom  of 
mind.  Range  over  this  beautiful  country  ;  those  who  belong 
to  it  will  revisit  its  well-known  fields  with  pleasure  ;  while  the 
stranger  will  receive  new  impressions,  and  lay  the  foundation 
of  agreeable  recollections." 

There  were  but  two  of  us  in  the  auditory  to  whom  this  pater- 
nal advice  was  in  reality  addressed  :  1  hope  my  companion  un- 
derstood it  as  well  as  I  did  !  To  me  it  seemed  a  voice  from 
heaven.  I  hastened  to  procure  a  horse  and  to  equip  myself 
with  elegance.  I  sought  Wieland,  but  could  not  meet  with  him. 
This  disappointment  did  not,  however,  alter  my  plan.  Unfor- 
tunately the  preparations  I  had  to  make  could  not  be  completed 
90  speedily  as  I  wished.  Although  I  galloped  with  all  possible 
expedition,  night  overtook  me  on  the  road  ;  but  I  was  in  no 


168 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHÏ. 


danger  of  losing  my  way,  as  the  moon  shone  brightly.  A  violent 
storm  arose,  but  I  spurred  on,  fearful  only  of  being  obliged  to 
postpone  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  mistress  until  the  following 
morning. 

It  was  late  when  I  reached  Sesenheim.  1  asked  the  host 
whether  the  people  at  the  parsonage  were  still  up.  The  young 
ladies  had  just  returned  thither.  He  thought  he  had  heard  them 
say  they  expected  some  one  that  evening.  I  should  have  prefer- 
red being  the  only  visiter  ;  however,  I  hastened  to  the  house  in 
hopes  of  at  least  reaching  it  first.  1  found  the  two  sisters  sitting 
near  the  door.  My  appearance  did  not  seem  to  surprise  them  ; 
but  I  was  myself  astonished  to  hear  Frederica  whisper  to  her 
sister,  "  'Tis  he  ;  did  I  not  tell  you  so?"  They  took  me  into 
the  house.  Supper  was  brought  in.  Their  mother  saluted  me 
as  an  old  acquaintance  ;  but  when  Olivia  looked  at  me  she  could 
not  refrain  from  laughter. 

The  next  morning  I  was  informed  of  what  I  had  been  unable 
to  comprehend  the  evening  before.  Frederica  had  laid  a  wager 
that  I  should  come,  and  had  felt  great  pleasure  at  seeing  her  pre- 
sentiments fulfilled.  Whenever  a  prediction  is  justified  by  the 
event,  it  raises  the  augur  in  his  own  opinion  :  he  is  induced  to 
consider  himself  endowed  with  sensibility  sufficiently  refined  to 
maintain  mysterious  relations  with  a  distant  object,  or  with  sa- 
gacity enough  to  discern  concealed  but  necessary  affinities  and 
connexions  between  different  beings.  Olivia's  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter were  also  explained  to  me.  She  confessed  that  she  had  been 
amused  at  seeing  me  dressed  this  time  with  so  much  elegance. 
As  to  Frederica,  she  attributed  the  pains  I  had  taken,  not  to  the 
suggestions  of  vanity,  but  solely  to  a  desire  to  please  her. 

My  mistress  soon  engaged  me  to  take  a  walk.  Her  mother 
and  sister  were  engaged  in  preparations  for  the  reception  of 
several  guests.  With  what  pleasure  did  1  enjoy,  by  the  side  of 
Frederica,  a  charming  morning  sun  beaming  on  the  fields,  as  He- 
bel  has  so  well  represented  it.  She  described  the  company  that 
was  expected,  and  begged  me  to  assist  her  in  contriving  that  we 
should  divert  ourselves  in  common  as  much  as  possible,  and  that 
a  degree  of  order  should  prevail  in  our  amusements.  "  People 
too  commonly  separate,"  said  she;  " they  make  but  feeble  at- 
tempts at  games  and  sport  ;  so  that  at  last  some  are  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  cards,  and  others  to  dancing." 

The  company  was  numerous,  and  animated  by  a  sportive  gay- 
ety  which  the  extreme  good  nature  of  the  rector  and  his  wife, 
the  beauty  of  the  country,  rural  liberty,  and  the  fineness  of  the 
weather,  promoted.  Never  had  I  felt  my  mind  so  free,  or  my 
heart  so  full  of  the  felicity  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  in  youth. 
Frederica  and  I  had  exchanged  no  formal  vows  ;  but  was  it  ne- 
cessary for  us  to  say  we  loved  each  other?  The  more  1  saw  and 
listened  to  her,  the  more  her  candour,  mental  purity,  modesty, 
amiable  manners,  and  the  native  graces  of  a  correct  and  delicate 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


169 


mind,  heightened  her  personal  charms  in  my  estimation.  One 
fear  alone,  one  puerile  superstition,  which  I  am  jjound  to  con- 
fess, imposed  a  severe  reserve  on  me,  which  ill  accorded  with 
the  passion  I  felt,  or  even  with  the  innocent  pleasures  which 
custom  and  frolicsome  gayety  warrant.    The  malediction  pro- 
nounced against  me  by  Lucinda  was  fresh  in  my  memory,  and 
whenever  our  games  of  forfeits  int  roduced  those  punishments  so 
sweet  to  him  who  inflicts  them,  and  often  to  her  who  is  condemn- 
ed to  undergo  them,  I  felt  myself  restrained  by  a  kind  of  su- 
perstitious fear,  dreading  lest  the  first  female  I  embraced  should 
be  exposed  to  the  effects  of  the  anathema  pronounced  by  an 
irritated  lover.    I  had  hitherto  avoided  every  opportunity 
which  had  presented  itself,  and  when  Frederica  informed  me 
of  these  approaching  sports.  1  vowed  in  my  own   mind  to 
avert  every  threatening  omen  from  her  I  loved.  Vain  oaths  !  A 
single  morning  devoted  to  pleasure,  to  delightful  conversations 
with  my  beloved,  whom  1  never  quitted  :  our  excursions,  our 
frolics  in  the  fields,  the  gayety  of  our  entertainments,  increased 
by  the  pleasure  of  being  in  her  company,  and  by  the  genial 
warmth  of  some  excellent  wine  that  was  not  spared,  all  com- 
bined to  make  me  forget  my  fears  and  prudent  resolutions.  In 
the  afternoon  I  could  not  escape  the  game  of  forfeits  :  nor  did  I 
even  attempt  to  impede  an  amusement  which  seemed  likely  to 
favour  my  passion  :  \  now  desired  it  as  earnestly  as  I  had  dread- 
ed it.    Frederica  made  mistakes  which  I  was  ordered  to  punish. 
With  what  transports  of  joy  did  I  give  this  charming  girl  these 
first  proofs  of  a  passion  equally  pure  and  lively.    She  received 
them  with  an  expression  of  reciprocal  affection,  allowing  me  to 
read  her  satisfaction  in  her  looks,  and  to  discover  the  sentiments 
of  which  her  modesty  did  not  allow  her  to  give  testimonials  so  ar- 
dent as  mine.    These  delightful  moments,  in  which  I  had  op- 
portunities of  evincing  all  my  tenderness  for  Frederica,  naturally 
led  to  a  declaration.    We  had  only  to  obey  the  impulses  of  our 
hearts  in  order  to  interchange  a  thousand  assurances  of  a  reci- 
procal attachment. 

The  rector  could  find  no  one  among  his  guests  that  would 
listen  to  his  complaints  of  the  uncertainties  and  delays  which 
attended  the  repairs  of  the  parsonage.  I  lent  an  attentive  ear 
to  him,  and  offered  to  sketch  him  a  plan.  He  readily  accepted 
my  proposal  ;  and  comparing  our  ideas  together,  I  immediately 
made  a  draught  of  a  plan,  which,  by  his  consent,  I  carried  with 
me  to  finish  at  leisure.  This  commission  I  undertook  with  great 
pleasure,  as  it  afforded  me  another  pretext  for  repeating  my  visit 
to  the  parsonage.  My  mistress  and  I  separated  after  a  day 
passed  in  that  pure  and  lively  joy  which  the  first  innocent  tokens 
of  mutual  passion  and  reciprocal  confidence  produce.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  my  attachment  had  been  returned  with  equal 
warmth  ;  and  I  was  exquisitely  sensible  of  the  happiness  of  in- 
spiring a  being  so  truly  lovely  and  estimable  with  a  tenderne*c 

V 


170 


AIEMOIKS  OF  GOET«E. 


like  my  own.  Regardless  of  the  future,  and  unconscious  oi 
evil,  I  abandoned  myself  freely  to  a  sentiment  which  appeared 
to  me  correct,  and  of  the  dangers  attending  which  I  had  no  sus- 
picion. My  young  mistress  and  I  had  promised  each  other  to 
cheer  the  tedious  interval  of  absence  by  frequent  correspondence, 
During  the  whole  time  that  my  studies  detained  me  in  the  city, 
Frederica's  letters  assisted  me  to  endure  the  unavoidable  periods 
of  our  separation.  These  letters,  in  which  she  opened  her  heart 
with  the  utmost  ingenuousness  and  grace,  reminded  me  of  all  her 
amiable  qualities,  and  increased  my  attachment  to  her.  In 
reading  them  I  still  seemed  to  see  her  and  talk  to  her.  No 
sooner  was  1  at  liberty  than  I  flew  to  Sesenheim,  where  I  was 
always  well  received  :  I  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  a  day  passed 
in  company  with  my  mistress,  and  returned  to  town  gladdened 
by  the  hope  of  a  similar  day's  pleasure.  I  had  very  carefully 
drawn  the  plan  of  the  repairs  of  the  parsonage  :  this  plan,  with 
which  the  rector  was  delighted,  met  with  several  objections  from 
his  friends,  as  almost  always  happens  in  society.  Wishing  to 
conciliate  these  friends,  I  promised  to  avail  myself  of  their  ob- 
versations  ;  and  I  consoled  the  worthy  rector,  who  had  been 
vexed  at  their  objections,  by  promising  that  I  would  speedily 
furnish  him  with  a  better  contrived  plan.  How  could  I  fail  to 
persevere,  encouraged  as  I  was  by  the  desire  to  please  this  ex- 
cellent man,  and  by  the  praises  which  Frederica  lavished  on  my 
complaisance.  It  was  not  long  before  I  fulfilled  my  engagement  ; 
and  I  had  now  the  satisfaction  of  being  applauded  by  those  whose 
self-love  I  had  conciliated  at  the  expense  of  my  own. 

Frederica's  parents  had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  her 
virtue  and  my  character.  The  repugnance  I  had  at  first  evinced 
to  games  of  forfeits,  which  they  were  so  obliging  as  to  think  I 
only  took  part  in  from  complaisance,  still  increased  this  confi- 
dence. We  were  accordingly  unobserved,  and  as  free  as  air. 
I  often  accompanied  her  in  lier  visits  to  her  friends,  or  those  of 
her  parents.  We  visited  together  the  beautiful  plains  of  Alsace, 
and  of  the  neighbouring  countries  on  both  sides  of  the  Rhine. 
What  happiness  I  enjoyed  !  The  weather  was  delightful,  the 
country  of  the  most  diversified  beauty,  and  I  was  with  an  affec- 
tionate mistress  whose  sensible  and  constant  heart  felt  all  the 
value  of  innocent  pleasure  !  If  she  was  much  less  than  a  wife 
to  me,  she  was  far  more  than  a  sister. 

A  sudden  change  of  situation  served  to  put  our  mutual  affec- 
tion to  a  kind  of  trial.  The  rector's  wife  and  daughters  were 
invited  to  spend  a  few  days  in  town,  with  some  rich  and  res- 
pected relations.  This  invitation  could  not  be  declined.  I  was 
known  and  esteemed  by  the  family  from  whom  it  came,  and  had 
met  them  at  the  parsonage  ;  I  was  accordingly  included  in  the 
invitation  :  and  it  will  readily  be  believed  that  I  did  not  require 
much  pressing.  This  was  a  very  new  situation  to  persons  ac- 
customed to  all  the  freedom  and  pleasures  which  families  in  easy 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


171 


circumstances  are  accustomed  to  in  the  country.  The  rector's 
wife,  who,  from  an  excellent  education  and  uncommon  equality 
of  temper,  was  every  where  at  home,  felt  not  in  the  least  embar- 
rassed on  the  occasion.  She  was  at  her  relations'  house  as  at 
her  own.  From  the  easy  manners,  the  calmness,  the  native 
dignity,  which  never  left  her,  she  might  easily  have  passed  for 
the  mistress  of  the  house.  It  was  not  thus  with  Olivia  ;  she 
seemed  out  of  her  sphere  from  the  very  first  day.  From  the 
visible  restraint  and  uneasiness  she  was  under,  she  might  have 
been  taken  for  an  inhabitant  of  the  waters  that  had  left  its  na- 
tive element.  Accustomed  to  the  activity  and  independence  of 
rural  life,  she  felt  uncomfortable  amidst  the  carpets,  mirrors,  and 
porcelains  of  an  elegant  apartment  which  she  could  not  leave 
when  she  pleased,  to  conceal  herself  behind  a  tree  agitated  by 
the  wind,  to  walk  by  the  side  of  a  limpid  rivulet,  or  to  run  across 
meadows  enamelled  with  thousands  of  flowers  ;  and  in  the  course 
of  two  days  her  ill-humour  and  impatience  increased  to  such  a 
height  that  she  could  scarcely  disguise  them.  As  to  Frederica, 
her  habits  were  also  far  from  according  with  her  temporary  resi- 
dence, nor  was  she  very  capable  of  accommodating  herself  to 
her  new  situation;  but  she  unconsciously  possessed  the  art  of 
making  the  situation  bend  to  her.  She  was  here,  as  in  the 
country,  the  life  of  the  company,  and  kept  them  in  motion  ;  a 
faculty  valuable  to  indolent  citizens,  who  dread  ennui  above  all 
things.  She  invented  games  and  amusements.  The  two  sisters, 
in  the  midst  of  this  social  circle,  were  the  only  persons  of  their 
sex  dressed  in  the  German  fashion.  When  Olivia  compared  her 
half  rustic  costume  with  the  refined  elegance  of  the  French 
fashions  before  her  eyes,  she  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  the  com- 
parison. In  the  country  she  would  never  have  thought  of  it  ; 
in  town  her  dress  became  insupportable  to  her.  Frederica  never 
compared  herself  to  any  one,  and  was  as  happy  there  as  in  any 
other  place,  in  her  customary  apparel.  Her  behaviour  towards 
me  was  as  free  as  before.  The  only  mark  of  preference  she 
bestowed  on  me  was  that  of  addressing  herself  to  me  more  fre- 
quently than  to  any  other  person,  in  order  to  communicate  her 
remarks  or  wishes. 

By  virtue  of  that  soft  dominion  she  claimed  over  me,  she  one 
evening  informed  me  that  the  ladies  wished  me  to  read  to  them. 
They  had  already  heard  me  read  at  Sesenheim.  I  requested  a 
few  hours'  attention,  and  read  Hamlet  to  them  with  all  the  truth 
and  warmth  of  expression  in  which  youth  is  seldom  deficient. 
1  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  Frederica  affected.  More  than 
once  she  heaved  profound  sighs,  and  tears  trickled  down  her 
rosy  cheeks.  This  was  the  only  reward  I  had  wished  for.  She 
heard  with  delight  the  praises  she  had  procured  me,  and  ap- 
peared proud  of  a  success  to  which  she  gloried  in  having  con- 
tributed, by  creating  the  opportunity.  But  it  was  now  time  for 
our  amiable  hostesses  of  the  parsonage  to  regain  their  retreat? 


m 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


for  Olivia  scarcely  retained  any  command  of  herself,  although 
in  her  own  rural  home  her  good-nature  was  truly  celestial. 
Ennui  and  disappointment  had  rendered  her  completely  melan- 
choly. Notwithstanding  all  the  compassion  1  felt  for  her,  i 
could  not  help  praising  her  sister.  1  expressed  to  her  how  much 
pleasure  it  gave  me  to  see  her  always  the  same,  and  as  much  at 
her  ease  in  town  as  a  bird  in  the  air. 

Whilst  I  was  thus  enjoying  myself  without  reflection  or  fore- 
sight, I  almost  forgot  that  1  had  come  to  Strasburgto  take  my  de- 
grees. At  last  I  was  obliged  to  recollect  this  circumstance,  and 
to  prepare  to  undergo  an  examination.  I  had  promised  both  my 
father  and  myself  to  compose  a  dissertation  on  a  question  of  law. 
I  sought  for  a  subject  calculated  to  afford  new  and  useful  views. 
I  soon  perceived  that  I  wanted  erudition  and  time  to  enable  me 
to  treat  on  a  matter  of  jurisprudence.  I  was  therefore  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  some  general  thesis  which  1  felt  able  to  sup- 
port. Of  all  branches  of  history  I  was  best  acquainted  with  that 
of  the  church.  J  had  long  taken  the  most  lively  interest  in  the 
conflict  which  has  always  arisen,  and  will  ever  exist,  between 
the  church,  or  the  established  mode  of  public  worship,  and  those 
to  whom  it  relates.  The  church  is,  in  fact,  always  opposed  to 
the  state,  which  it  would  fain  rule  ;  and  to  the  citizens,  whom  it 
would  gladly  subjugate  on  the  other  hand.  The  state  refuses  to 
acknowledge  its  supremacy,  and  individuals  deny  its  right  to 
govern  them.  The  state  protests  on  behalf  of  the  public  liber- 
ties ;  the  good  of  the  public  is  its  object.  The  citizen  defends 
his  domestic  liberty,  that  of  his  conscience  and  sentiments.  From 
childhood  I  witnessed  all  these  contests,  equally  injurious  to  the 
church  and  state.  My  dawning  reason  had  drawn  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  sovereign  had  a  right  to  prescribe  a  mode  of  wor- 
ship, to  serve  as  a  rule  for  the  conduct  as  well  as  the  instruction 
of  the  church  ;  and  to  which  the  citizens  were  bound  to  pay 
external  observance,  and  to  render  public  homage  ;  every 
one  being,  at  the  same  time,  at  liberty  to  think  as 
he  pleased.  I  took  for  the  text  of  my  dissertation  the  former 
half  of  this  subject  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  right,  and  even  the  duty, 
of  the  legislator  to  establish  a  public  worship  to  which  every 
one  should  be  under  the  necessity  of  conforming.  1  supported 
my  thesis  partly  on  historical  facts,  and  partly  on  reasoning.  I 
showed  how  all  positive  religions,  including  the  Christian  reli- 
gion itself,  had  been,  introduced  by  rulers  of  nations,  kings,  and 
powerful  men.  1  he  example  of  protestantism  also  supported 
my  thesis  ,  which  I  maintained  with  extreme  boldness,  because 
1  was  in  reality  aiming  only  to  please  my  father  :  and  my  most 
ardent  wish  and  sincere  hupe  was  that  my  work  might  be  re- 
jected by  the  censors.  BehriscWtiad  inspired  me  with  an  insur- 
mountable aversion  to  the  publicity  of  printing  ;  and  my  con- 
versations with  Herder  had  destroyed  all  my  confidence  in  nay- 
self,  by  showing  me  but  too  clearly  my  own  incompetence. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


m 


I  was  master  of  my  subject,  and  I  composed  almost  entirely 
from  my  own  stores  :  I  spoke  and  wrote  Latin  with  facility.  I 
therefore  engaged  in  this  undertaking  with  pleasure.    My  thesis 
might  at  least  be  maintained.    My  composition  was  not  bad.  Î 
had  it  revised  by  a  good  Latinist,  who  soon  cleared  it  of  all  seri- 
ous errors,  and  rendered  my  essay  fit  to  be  presented.    I  imme- 
diately sent  my  father  a  correct  copy  of  it.    He  would  have 
been  better  pleased  had  I  written  on  a  question  of  jurispru- 
dence ;  but  like  a  good  protestant  he  approved  of  my  boldness, 
and  looked  for  good  effects  from  the  publication  of  this  treatise, 
1  lost  no  time  in  laying  it  before  the  faculty,  which,  fortu- 
nately, behaved  with  equal  politeness  and  discretion.  The 
dean,  an  intelligent  and  judicious  man,  began  by  applauding  my 
work,  then  passed  on  to  the  difficulties  of  the  subject,  enlarged 
on  the  objections  to  it,  and  concluded  by  stating,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  think  of  publishing  such  an  essay  as  an  academical 
dissertation.    The  candidate,  he  said,  had  given  proofs  of  capa- 
city, and  evinced  hopeful  talents.    Not  to  retard  my  promotion 
they  allowed  me  to  sustain  a  thesis  :  1  should  afterwards  meet 
with  no  difficulty  in  publishing  my  dissertation  as  an  individual 
and  a  protestant.    Scarcely  could  I  conceal  from  the  dean  the 
pleasure  his  decision  gave  me.    Every  argument  he  alleged  in 
order  to  soften  his  refusal,  relieved  me  of  a  load  of  anxiety. 
Contrary  to  his  expectations,  I  made  no  objection  ;  I  compli- 
mented him  on  his  learning  and  prudence,  and  promised  to 
guide  myself  wholly  by  his  direction.    I  again  set  to  work  with 
my  private  tutor.    The  questions  on  which  I  was  to  maintain  a 
thesis  were  fixed  and  printed.    My  fellow-students  of  our  table 
d'hôte  were  appointed  my  adversaries  ;  and  I  got  through  the 
disputation  with  equal  facility  and  pleasure.    1  had  long  been 
assiduously  studying  the  Corpus  Juris,  and  I  passed  for  a  learned, 
clever  fellow.    According  to  custom,  the  solemnity  concluded 
with  a  good  dinner. 

My  father  had  been  in  hopes  that  my  return  to  Frankfort 
would  have  been  honourably  celebrated  by  the  publication  of 
my  treatise.  The  refusal  to  print  it  in  the  usual  manner  dis- 
pleased him  greatly.  He  wished  to  have  it  published  at  his  own 
expense.  1  persuaded  him  that  it  ought  first  to  be  revised. 
With  this  intention  he  preserved  the  manuscript,  which  1  found 
among  his  papers  many  years  afterwards. 

My  promotion  took  place  on  the  6th  of  August,  1771.*  The 
celebrated  Schoëpfha  died  on  the  same  day,  at  the  age  of  seven- 
ty-five. This  remarkable  man  had  some  influence  over  me,  al- 
though 1  was  not  directly  in  communication  with  him.  Men  of 
his  stamp  may  be  compared  to  luminous  stars,  on  which  all  eyes 
are  fixed  as  long  as  they  glitter  above  the  horizon.  Their  pre- 
*  sence  encourages  us,  and  we  are  excited  by  a  noble  emulation 


*  Goethe  was  then  twenty-two  years  of  aarf\ 


174 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


to  imitate  their  great  qualities.  The  bounty  of  nature  had  la- 
voured  Schoëpflin  with  a  prepossessing  exterior,  with  the  gift  of 
eloquence,  and  with  eminent  mental  faculties.  His  fortune  was 
the  work  of  his  natural  and  acquired  talents.  He  was  one  of 
those  privileged  men  who  are  endowed  with  the  faculty  of  con- 
necting the  present  with  the  past,  and  elucidating  the  interests 
of  life  by  the  torch  of  history.  He  was  born  in  the  country  of 
Baden,  and  brought  up  at  Bale  and  Strasburg  ;  thus  he  belonged 
wholly  to  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Rhine  :  all  that  earthly  pa- 
radise was  his  country.  Engaged  in  the  study  of  history  and 
antiquities,  he  seized  all  their  phenomena  with  facility,  and  his 
memory  never  failed  to  recall  them  faithfully.  Eager  for  instruc- 
tion, he  made  rapid  progress  ;  and  his  success  was  uninterrupted. 
The  literary  world,  and  the  world  at  large,  loaded  him  with  fa- 
vours. His  historical  knowledge  sufficed  for  every  thing,  and 
obtained  him  an  agreeable  reception  wherever  he  went.  He 
traversed  Germany,  Holland,  France,  and  Italy.  He  maintained 
communications  with  all  the  celebrated  literary  men  of  his  time. 
He  rendered  himself  agreeable  to  the  great  ;  and  if  his  elo- 
quence ever  gave  umbrage  to  courtiers,  it  was  only  by  occasion- 
ally prolonging  an  audience  or  a  dinner.  But  he  acquired  the 
confidence  of  statesmen,  for  whom  he  composed  learned  memo- 
rials ;  and  he  found  employment  for  his  talents  in  all  quarters. 
Several  sovereigns  wished  to  have  attached  him  to  themselves. 
He  remained  faithful  to  Strasburg  and  the  court  of  Versailles. 
Even  at  that  court  they  respected  his  German  frankness,  and 
protected  him  against  the  power  of  the  pretor  Klingling,  his 
secret  enemy.  Delighting  in  society  and  conversation,  he  was 
at  once  devoted  to  study,  to  business,  and  to  the  world.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  to  conceive  how  he  could  find  time 
for  every  thing,  had  not  his  known  indifference  towards  women 
saved  him  all  the  days  and  hums  which  are  so  agreeably  de- 
voted to  them  by  those  who  love  them. 

Still  he  is  not  included  either  among  celebrated  writers  or 
great  orators.  His  programmes,  speeches,  and  harangues  were 
always  made  for  the  occasion,  the  solemnity  of  the  day  ;  but  his 
great  work  on  Alsace  will  go  down  to  prosperity.  In  that  work 
he  has  revived  the  past,  renewed  the  faded  colouring  of  ancient 
pictures,  restored  shapeless  statues,  and  inscriptions  effaced  by 
lime  or  mutilated  by  accident.  It  was  thus  that  he  spread  his 
character  for  industry  through  Alsace  and  the  countries  adja- 
cent. He  maintained  to  the  last  an  undisputed  ascendency  in 
Baden  and  the  Palatinate.  He  founded  the  Academy  of  Sciences 
at  Manheim,  of  which  he  remained  president  to  the  time  of  his 
death. 

The  only  time  I  had  occasion  to  approach  this  remarkable 
man,  was  one  night  when  we  gave  him  a  serenade  by  torchlight. 
The  court,  planted  with  the  lime-trees  of  the  old  building  of  Hie 
School  of  Law,  was  rather  smoked  than  lighted  by  our  flam- 


rULfcaiÛIRô    OF  GOETHt. 


beaux.  When  our  concert,  such  as  it  was,  ceased,  Schoëpflm 
came  down  among  us  :  the  old  man's  venerable  countenance 
expressed  the  satisfaction  he  felt,  and  he  was  quite  at  home  in 
this  youthful  circle.  He  knew  how  to  behave  affably,  and  at 
the  same  time  with  dignity  :  he  addressed  us  in  a  cheerful  man- 
ner, without  the  least  appearance  of  preparation  or  pedantry. 
His  speech  was  affectionate  and  paternal  ;  and  we  were  enchant- 
ed to  think  he  was  treating  us  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
kings  and  princes  whom  he  had  so  often  addressed.  Our  vocife- 
rous acclamations  testified  our  joy  :  the  trumpets  and  timbrels 
again  sounded,  and  the  whole  academic  population  departed  to 
their  own  dwellings  full  of  hope  and  happiness. 

An  intimacy  already  subsisted  between  two  of  SchoëpfhVs 
disciples  and  me.  1  allude  to  Koch  and  Oberlin.  I  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  the  monuments  and  remains  of  antiquity. 
They  induced  me  once  more  to  study  the  Strasburg  Museum, 
which  was  rich  in  documents  illustrative  of  their  master's  great 
work  on  Alsace.  I  had  learnt  from  this  work  to  perceive  vesti- 
ges of  antiquity  here  and  there,  at  the  time  of  my  first  excursion 
into  Alsace.  Further  researches  enabled  me,  in  my  subsequent 
tours,  to  discover  in  the  valley  of  the  Rhincan  ancient  posses- 
sion of  the  Romans,  and  to  indulge  in  waking  dreams  amidst 
monuments  of  Roman  greatness.  Scarcely  was  I  initiated  into 
this  science,  when  Oberlin  turned  my  attention  to  the  monu- 
ments of  the  middle  ages,  and  taught  me  to  distinguish  the  dif- 
ferent ruins  and  documents  which  have  transmitted  their  traces 
to  our  times.  He  soon  inspired  me  with  his  own  taste  for  our 
minnesingers  *  and  our  old  heroic  poets.  I  am  under  great 
obligations  to  this  ingenious  man,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Koch.  Had 
I  listened  to  their  advice,  and  yielded  to  their  wishes,  I  might 
have  owed  to  them  the  happiness  of  my  life,  as  1  shall  presently 
show. 

Schoëpflin  had  passed  an  active  life  in  the  elevated  sphere  of 
public  law.  Deeply  sensible  of  the  influence  in  courts  and  ca- 
binets, which  this  science  and  those  analogous  to  it  secure  to  a 
superior  mind,  he  had  an  aversion  equally  obstinate  and  unjust 
for  every  profession  founded  on  the  science  of  the  civil  law,  and 
he  instilled  this  prejudice  into  his  pupils.  The  two  individuals 
above  mentioned,  friends  of  Salzmann,  the  president  of  our 
table  d'hote,  evinced  the  most  friendly  disposition  towards  me. 
They  set  more  value  than  I  did  on  that  impassioned  vivacity 
with  which  I  seized  external  objects,  on  the  facility  with  which 
I  depicted  them,  and  exhibited  their  distinctive  features  so  as  to 
attach  an  interest  to  them.  They  had  observed  how  little  I 
studied  civil  law.  My  taste  for  the  academic  mode  of  life  was 
no  secret  to  them.  They  therefore  saw  no  difficulty  in  attract- 
ing my  attention  to  the  study  of  history,  public  law.  and 


*  The  Troubadours  of  Germany. 


176 


eloquence,  by  proposing  it  to  me,  in  the  first  instance,  as  a  kind 
of  pastime,  and  by  afterwards  making  it  the  principal  occupa» 
ûion  of  my  life.  In  this  respect,  Strasburg  offered  many  advan- 
tages. The  prospect  of  being  employed  in  the  German  chancery 
at  Versailles,  and  the  example  of  Schoëpflin,  were  inducements. 
Although  I  did  not,  perhaps,  think  myself  capable  of  equalling 
his  merit,  I  could  at  least,  1  thought,  improve  my  natural  facul- 
ties sufficiently  to  justify  the  hope  that  1  should  not  be  the  vic- 
tim of  a  blind  emulation.  Such  was  the  opinion  of  my  two 
well-wishers,  and  of  Salzmann,  They  all  three  considered  my 
memory,  and  the  facility  with  which  I  imbibed  the  spirit  of  a 
foreign  language,  as  of  great  value  :  and  they  founded  their 
views  and  proposals  on  these  propitious  qualities. 

I  have  now  to  explain  how  it  happened  that  all  these  schemes 
ended  in  nothing,  and  how  I  relinquished  all  prospects  connected 
with  France,  and  plunged  a^ain  into  Germany  ;  and  I  shall  take 
the  liberty,  as  i  have  already  done  in  similar  cases,  of  prefixing  a 
few  reflections  to  this  period  of  my  history. 

Few  memoirs  give  an  exact  idea  of  all  the  proceedings  of  their 
heroes  as  they  advance  in  life.  In  fact,  this  life,  like  the 
universe  of  which  \ve  form  part,  is  an  incomprehensible  compo- 
sition of  liberty  and  necessity.  Our  will  presages  what  we  shall 
be  inclined  to  do  under  all  the  circumstances  in  which  we  may 
be  placed  ;  but  these  circumstances  govern  us  without  our 
knowing  it.  We  have  the  faculty  of  acting  :  but  the  how  seldom 
depends  upon  us  ;  and  as  to  the  why,  we  know  nothing  of  it. 

The  French  language  had  pleased  me  from  early  youth. 
When  I  first  became  acquainted  with  it,  my  life  was  agitated 
and  active  ;  and  this  study  had  inspired  me  with  new  activity. 
Î  had  learnt  French  without  grammar  or  rudiments,  merely  by 
conversation  and  exercise,  and  as  a  second  mother-tongue,  I 
had  learnt  to  speak  it  with  the  greatest  facility  :  and  this  had 
induced  me  to  prefer  Strasburg  to  any  other  place  for  my 
present  university  course.  But,  alas  !  it  was  precisely  there 
that  I  was  destined  to  find  I  must  turn  my  views  to  a  different 
quarter,  and  give  up  rather  than  cultivate  the  language  and  cus- 
toms of  France. 

Politeness  being  considered  by  the  French  as  one  of  the  first 
of  qualities,  they  are  very  indulgent  towards  strangers  who  en- 
deavour to  speak  their  language.  They  never  laugh  at  the 
errors  they  perceive,  and  never  notice  them  but  with  great 
civility.  Still  they  cannot  endure  errors  in  language  ;  and  in 
order  to  apprize  you  of  an  incongruity  of  expression,  they  have 
a  method  of  repeating  what  you  have  said,  and  giving  another 
turn  to  it  ;  thus  politely  leading  you  to  remark  the  expression 
of  which  you  ought  to  have  made  use,  and  by  these  means  cor- 
recting those  who  are  diligent  and  attentive  enough  to  learn. 

If  a  man  will  impose  this  task  upon  himself,  and  possess  suf- 
ficient self-command  to  suffer  himself  to  be  schooled  in  thi? 


.tfEiTOlKri  Oh'  OOÉTJHE. 


177 


manner,  he  may  certainly  improve  by  it  in  some  degree  ;  but  he 
is  also  liable  to  be  discouraged,  and  to  have  his  attention  with- 
drawn from  the  subject  of  his  discourse,  by  these  perpetual  in- 
terruptions :  and  of  this  I  was  peculiarly  sensible.    As  I  always 
thought  I  had  something  interesting  to  say  or  to  listen  to,  I  did 
not  like  to  be  called  to  order  on  account  of  my  expressions  ;  yet 
this  occurred  to  me  oftener  than  to  any  one  else,  for  my  French 
was  in  general  incorrect,  and  remarkable  for  a  singular  incon- 
gruity of  style.    I  had  learnt  the  expressions  and  accents  of  ser- 
vants, soldiers,  actors,  and  frequenters  of  the  theatre,  as  well  as 
the  language  of  the  heroes  and  peasants  of  the  drama  :  thus  Ï 
had  formed  my  French  when  I  frequented  the  theatre  at  Frank- 
fort.   It  was  therefore  no  wonder  that  this  language,  truly  worthy 
of  the  tower  of  Babel,  and  composed  of  so  many  different  ingre- 
dients, exposed  me  to  innumerable  cacophonies  ;   added  to 
which,  I  had  also  frequented  the  French  protestant  church,  be- 
ing fond  of  hearing  the  sermons  of  the  ministers  who  preached 
there.    Nor  was  this  all.    When  a  boy,  1  had  been  much  at- 
tached to  our  literature  of  the  sixteenth  century  ;  and  this  study 
gave  me  a  taste  for  the  French  writers  of  that  famous  period. 
Montaigne,  Amyot,  Rabelais,  and  Marot,  became  my  favourite 
authors,  and  the  objects  of  my  admiration  ;  and  these  various 
elements  conflicting  in  my  language  rendered  it  a  complete 
chaos.    The  attention  of  my  auditors  was  fixed  on  the  oddity  of 
my  expressions  ;  and  the  most  polite  Frenchmen  forgot  their 
oratorical  precautions  in  their  eagerness  to  set  me  right.    I  was 
criticized  without  mercy,  and  sent  back  to  school,    i  was  in  the 
same  predicament  at  Strasburg  as  I  had  been  in  at  Leipsic,  with 
this  difference,  that  I  could  not  now  assert  the  right  of  each 
province  to  use  its  own  idiom.    1  was  now  on  foreign  ground, 
and  obliged  to  conform  to  the  laws  of  the  country. 

My  German  fellow-students  and  I  might,  perhaps,  neverthe- 
less have  yielded  with  a  good  grace,  had  not  some  evil  genius 
whispered  in  our  ears,  that  all  the  efforts  of  a  foreigner  to  speak 
French  well  were  unavailing.  A  practised  ear  can  always  dis- 
tinguish a  German,  an  Italian,  or  an  Englishman  under  his  French 
disguise  :  he  is  tolerated,  but  never  admitted  into  the  bosom  of 
the  church. 

The  exceptions  quoted  were  far  from  numerous.  We  heard 
only  of  M.  Grimm  ;  for  Schoëpflin  himself  had  never  attained 
perfection.  He  was  applauded  for  having  early  felt  the  neces- 
sity of  learning  to  express  himself  in  French  with  perfect  pro- 
priety. The  zeal  with  which  he  had  endeavoured  to  familiarize 
himself  with  the  language  of  the  country  in  which  he  had  to  re- 
side, and  to  qualify  himself  to  rank  among  French  speakers 
and  mix  in  the  best  French  company,  was  approved  ;  but  the 
fashionable  world,  the  connoisseurs,  accused  him  of  talking  in 
dialogues  and  dissertations,  instead  of  conversing.  It  was  said 
that  he  himself  was  an  instance  of  that  rage  for  dissertation 

Z 


178 


#EM01KS  Ui'  GOUTHE. 


which  was  the  original  and  deadly  sin  of  the  Germans,  whilst 
the  talent  of  conversation  was  the  most  eminent  quality  of  the 
French.  Schoëpflin  was  no  better  treated  as  an  orator.  As 
soon  as  one  of  his  most  elaborate  speeches  was  printed,  the 
Jesuits,  who  detested  him  as  a  protestant,  attacked  him  imme- 
diately, and  eagerly  exposed  the  bad  French  of  the  phrases  he 
had  introduced. 

Thus,  instead  of  being  encouraged  by  the  toleration  of  our 
inexperience,  we  were  repelled  by  this  pedantic  injustice.  We 
had  no  hopes  of  succeeding  better  than  Schoëpflin,  or  of  satis- 
fying the  extravagant  attention  of  the  French  to  external  forms. 
We  therefore  adopted  the  resolution  of  relinquishing  the  French 
language  entirely,  and  devoting  ourselves  with  greater  zeal  and 
application  than  ever  to  our  national  tongue. 

The  society  in  which  we  lived  furnished  us  with  the  oppor- 
tunity of  carrying  our  determination  into  effect,  and  encouraged 
us  to  adhere  to  it.  Alsace  had  not  been  annexed  to  France  long 
enough  for  its  inhabitants  of  all  ages  to  have  lost  that  strong 
attachment  to  the  German  constitution,  language,  manners,  and 
dress,  which  existed  in  every  heart.  A  conquered  people,  whom 
necessity  has  deprived  of  half  their  national  existence,  would 
look  upon  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  the  remainder  as  a  disgrace. 
They  remain  firmly  attached  to  the  ruins  that  remind  them  of 
the  good  old  times,  and  cherish  the  hope  of  better  days.  Many 
inhabitants  of  Strasburg  formed  a  little  circle  by  themselves,  but 
internally  united  by  a  unanimous  spirit,  and  continually  in- 
creased and  recruited  by  numbers  of  the  subjects  of  the  German 
princes,  possessed  of  considerable  estates  in  France,  who  all 
made  a  longer  or  shorter  stay  at  Strasburg  ;  the  fathers  to  trans- 
act their  business,  and  the  sons  to  pursue  their  studies. 

The  German  language  predominated  at  our  table  tfhotc.  Our 
president,  Salzmann,  was  the  only  person  among  us  who  could 
express  himself  in  French  with  much  facility  or  elegance. 
Lerse  might  have  passed  for  the  model  of  a  young  inhabitant  of 
our  countries.  Meyer  of  Lindau  was  much  more  like  the  former 
than  a  true  Frenchman.  As  to  the  other  members  of  our  so- 
ciety, although  several  of  them  inclined  to  the  French  customs 
and  language,  they  unanimously  agreed  with  us. 

If,  after  comparing  the  respective  difficulties  of  the  two  lan- 
guages, we  proceeded  to  a  comparison  of  the  public  institutions, 
we  had  certainly  no  great  reason  to  praise  the  Germanic  con- 
stitution ;  and  we  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  abuses  of  our 
legislation  ;  but  we  were  proud  of  it  when  compared  to  the  con- 
stitution of  France,  which  country  was  hastening  to  ruin  for  want 
of  laws  to  repress  abuses.  The  little  energy  its  government 
retained  was  wholly  misapplied.  The  horizon  was  darkened  by 
omens  of  an  approaching  tempest,  and  a  total  overthrow  was 
openly  predicted. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  we  looked  towards  the  North,  the  star  of 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


179 


Frederic  shone  resplendent  there  :  it  was  the  polar  star  to  us  ; 
its  brilliancy  illumined  Germany  and  all  Europe  ;  nay,  even  the 
whole  world.  The  preponderance  of  this  great  King  was 
manifested  on  every  occasion  in  the  most  striking  manner.  The 
Prussian  exercise,  and  even  the  Prussian  cane,  had  been  intro- 
duced into  the  French  army.  Frederic's  predilection  for  a 
foreign  language  was  overlooked  ;  indeed  it  was  expiated  by  the 
vexations  he  endured  from  his  favourite  poets,  philosophers,  and 
men  of  letters,  who  looked  upon  him  as  an  intruder,  and  treated 
him  accordingly. 

But  what  principally  tended  to  render  us  dissatisfied  with  the 
French,  was  the  uncivil  and  incessantly  repeated  assertion,  that 
the  Germans,  even  including  this  King,  who  was  so  anxious  to 
attain  the  French  polish  in  perfection,  were  totally  devoid  of 
taste.  This  conclusion  terminated  every  opinion  given  by  a 
Frenchman,  like  the  burthen  of  a  song.  We  endeavoured  to 
treat  this  reproach  with  mere  indifference  ;  but  how  could  we 
ascertain  its  justice  or  injustice  ;  and  how,  in  particular,  could 
we  look  upon  the  French  as  competent  judges  of  the  matter., 
when  we  heard  it  cited  as  a  decision  of  Menage,  that  the  French 
writers  possessed  all  qualities  with  the  exception  of  taste  ?  Did 
we  not  also  see  in  the  works  published  at  Paris  that  the  writers 
of  the  day  were  accused  of  this  deficiency,  and  that  Voltaire 
himself  did  not  escape  this  terrible  charge  ?  Accustomed  as 
we  were  to  listen  only  to  the  voice  of  nature,  we  were  unwilling 
to  acknowledge  any  rule  but  truth  and  freedom  of  sentiment 
expressed  in  à  lively  and  vigorous  manner. 

"  Have  not  friendship,  love,  and  fraternal  affection,  a  natural 
expression  of  their  own  ?" 

Such  was  the  war-cry  or  watchword  of  all  the  members  of  out- 
little  academic  horde. 

It  may,  probably,  be  conceived,  that  all  the  grounds  of  dislike 
which  I  have  enumerated,  might  be  traced  to  particular  circum- 
stances, and  individual  aversion  ;  but  I  still  think  that  French 
literature  was  distinguished  at  that  period  b)  peculiar  charac- 
teristic features,  which  had  rather  a  repulsive  than  attractive 
effect  on  young  people  full  of  life  and  activity.  This  literature 
had  grown  old,  and  was  devoted  to  the  great  world  ;  how  then 
could  it  possibly  win  youthful  hearts  ardently  panting  for  the 
felicities  of  life,  and  for  liberty  ? 

French  literature  had  been  constantly  making  progress  since 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  no  obstacle  had  interrupted  its  career. 
Political  and  religious  troubles  and  foreign  wars  had  but  accele- 
rated its  advance.  Still  it  had  been  regarded  by  public  opinion, 
for  nearly  a  century,  as  having  attained  its  highest  degree  of 
splendour.  Now,  supposing  that  favourable  circumstances  had 
suddenly  ripened  and  got  in  an  uncommonly  rich  harvest  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  the  most  eminent  talents  of  the  eighteenth 
must  necessarily  have  contented  themselves  with  humbly  gleaning 


ISO 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


in  the  footsteps  of  their  predecessors.  But  many  branches  oi 
the  literary  tree  were  blighted.  Comedy  may  be  compared  to 
a  flower  which  requires  the  refreshment  of  incessant  waterings. 
New  manners  and  follies  must  perpetually  supply  it  with  sap,  or 
it  must  languish  and  die.  Those  who  had  cultivated  this  deli- 
cate plant  in  France,  with  the  greatest  success,  no  longer  existed. 
Many  tragedies  had  likewise  disappeared  from  the  stage.  Al- 
though Voltaire  had  not  let  slip  the  opportunity  of  publishing  an 
edition  of  Corneille's  works,  in  order  to  point  out  all  the  errors 
of  his  predecessor,  he  was  universally  considered  unequal  to 
that  great  master. 

This  same  Voltaire,  the  wonder  of  his  age,  had  also  grown 
old,  like* the  literature  which  he  had  vivified  and  governed  for 
nearly  a  century.  Around  him  still  existed  and  vegetated  a 
crowd  of  literary  men,  all  more  or  less  advanced  in  years,  more 
or  less  active  or  successful,  who  were  gradually  disappearing, 
The  ascendancy  of  society  over  writers  constantly  increased  ; 
society,  composed  of  persons  of  birth,  rank,  and  fortune,  sought 
its  most  agreeable  recreations  in  literature  ;  which,  therefore, 
naturally  became  devoted  to  the  taste  of  what  is  called  good 
company.  People  of  distinction  and  literary  characters,  by 
mutual  action  and  reaction,  exercised  a  reciprocal  influence  over 
each  other.  All  that  is  distinguished  is  in  its  nature  repulsive  ; 
literary  criticism  in  France  was,  therefore,  sharp  and  severe,  its 
aim  was  to  humble,  to  vilify,  and  destroy  ;  and  by  this  kind  of 
criticism  the  upper  classes  kept  down  the  writers,  and  the  latter, 
with  less  decency,  persecuted  each  other,  and  attacked  even 
their  own  partisans.  Thus,  independently  of  the  troubles  in 
the  church  and  state,  such  a  literary  fermentation  was  kept  up, 
that  Voltaire,  although  he  was  Voltaire,  stood  in  need  of  all  his 
extraordinary  activity  and  superior  talents  to  stem  the  torrent. 
He  was  already  treated  as  an  obstinate  old  fool  ;  and  his  conti- 
nual indefatigable  efforts  were  styled  the  impotent  attempts  of 
extreme  age.  The  principles  he  had  constantly  professed,  and 
to  the  propagation  of  which  he  had  devoted  his  life,  no  longer 
gained  esteem  or  respect  :  he  obtained  no  credit  by  his  belief  in 
God,  or  the  profession  of  faith  by  which  he  continued  to  distin- 
guish himself  from  the  atheistical  crowd.  Thus  was  this  patri- 
arch of  literature  condemned,  like  the  youngest  of  his  fellow- 
labourers,  to  watch  for  a  favourable  moment,  to  exhaust  himself 
in  pursuit  of  new  successes,  to  appear  too  lavish  of  favours  to 
his  friends,  and  of  proofs  of  animosity  towards  his  enemies  ;  in 
short,  to  violate  truth  whilst  proclaiming  his  sovereign  respect 
for  her.  To  end,  as  he  had  begun,  by  dependence,  was  a  poor 
return  for  his  extraordinary  and  long  continued  exertions.  His 
mind  was  too  elevated,  and  his  susceptibility  too  delicate  to  allow 
him  to  accommodate  himself  to  such  a  situation  ;  and  accord- 
ingly he  was  always  kicking  and  struggling  to  disengage  himself. 
He  gave  the  reins  to  his  caprices,  and  at  a  single  bound  over 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHE, 


161 


leaped  the  limits  within  which  both  his  friends  and  enemies 
remained  confined  in  spite  of  themselves  ;  for  every  one  pre- 
tended to  correct  him,  though  no  one  could  equal  the  strokes  of 
his  vigorous  fancy. 

In  Germany  we  were  naturally  attached  to  the  love  of  truth 7 
as  to  a  beacon  that  illuminates  the  path  of  life  and  science.  To 
respect  ourselves  and  to  be  just  towards  others,  was  our  invari- 
able rule.  Hence  we  could  not  but  remark,  with  increasing  dis- 
approbation, the  want  of  good  faith  and  the  party  spirit  which 
Voltaire  evinced,  and  his  rage  for  attacking  so  many  objects  of 
respect.  We  accordingly  grew  more  indifferent  to  him  every- 
day. For  the  sake  of  warring  against  priests,  he  had  attacked 
religion  and  the  sacred  books,  as  if  he  could  never  vilify  them 
enough.  These  endeavours  had  disgusted  me.  I  now  saw  him, 
in  order  to  weaken  the  tradition  of  a  deluge,  denying  the  petri- 
faction of  shells  transported  to  a  distance  by  the  waters,  and 
pretending  that  this  was  but  a  frolic  of  nature.  From  that  mo- 
ment I  lost  all  confidence  in  him  ;  for  a  single  glance  at  a  moun- 
tain sufficiently  satisfied  me  that  I  stood  on  what  had  been  the 
bed  of  a  sea,  now  dried  up,  amidst  the  spoils  of  its  primitive  in- 
habitants. I  felt  certain  that  the  floods  had  formerly  covered 
these  heights  :  and  I  cared  little  whether  it  had  been  before  or 
during  the  deluge  ;  1  could  not  give  up  the  idea  that  the  valley 
of  the  Rhine  had  been  an  immense  sea,  and  a  beach  of  vast  ex- 
tent. This  fact  was,  in  my  opinion,  the  basis  of  all  progress  in 
the  science  of  the  earth  and  of  mountains. 

Voltaire  and  French  literature  were,  therefore,  superannuated 
and  devoted  to  worldly  greatness.  1  have  still  a  few  observa- 
tions to  make  on  this  extraordinary  man.  His  constant  indus- 
try, employed  at  once  in  literary  works  in  the  world  and  in  poli- 
tics; the  desire  of  acquiring  great  riches  by  great  means,  and 
of  keeping  up  such  connexions  with  all  earthly  powers  as  would 
make  him  a  power  likewise — such  were,  in  youth,  the  predo- 
minant qualities  of  Voltaire,  the  objects  of  his  wishes  and  en- 
deavours. 

No  man  had  ever  appeared  to  sacrifice  his  independence  with 
so  much  facility,  in  order  to  render  himself  in  reality  independ- 
ent. The  nation  flocked  to  his  standard.  In  vain  did  his  ene- 
mies oppose  him  with  ordinary  talents  and  extreme  hatred  ; 
they  could  not  prevent  his  success.  He  never  succeeded,  in- 
deed, in  reconciling  himself  with  the  court  ;  but  foreign  kings 
became  his  tributaries.  Catherine,  Frederick  the  Great,  Gus- 
tavus  of  Sweden,  Christian  of  Denmark,  Poniatowski  the  Pole, 
Henry  of  Prussia,  and  Charles  of  Brunswick,  acknowledged 
themselves  his  vassals  :  even  popes  thought  it  necessary  to  en- 
deavour to  conciliate  him  by  marks  of  respect.  Joseph  II.  did 
himself  no  honour  by  his  aversion  to  him  ;  that  emperor  would 
have  lost  nothing  by  attending  to  so  eminent  a  genius,  listening 
to  his  noble  inspirations,  and  thus  enlightening  his  mind,  and 


1*2 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE* 


learning  to  set  a  higher  value  on  extraordinary  mental  lacul= 

ties. 

The  observations  of  which  I  have  here  given  a  hasty  sum- 
mary, were  heard  from  all  quarters  at  the  period  of  which  I  am 
speaking  ;  it  was  the  cry  of  the  day,  perpetual  and  discordant, 
which  afforded  us  neither  knowledge  nor  information.  The  past 
was  continually  praised  ;  something  new  and  good  was  asked 
for,  and  when  novelty  presented  itseif,  every  one  was  immedi- 
ately tired  of  it.  Scarcely  had  a  French  patriot  revived  the  na- 
tional drama  from  its  long  lethargy  by  a  piece  adapted  to  touch 
every  heart  ;  scarcely  had  the  Siege  of  Calais  excited  general 
enthusiasm,  when  that  piece  and  the  other  patriotic  tragedies  of 
the  same  author  were  condemned  as  insignificant.  Destouches 
was  accused  of  weakness  in  those  pictures  of  manners  which 
had  so  often  delighted  me  in  childhood  .  and  even  the  very  name 
of  this  meritorious  man  was  forgotten.  How  many  writers  could 
I  name  on  whose  account  I  was  reproached  forjudging  like  a 
true  countryman,  when  i  discovered  any  respect  for  them  and 
their  works,  in  conversing  with  Frenchmen  respecting  their  mo- 
dern literature. 

This  prospect  continued  to  grow  more  and  more  unpleasant 
to  my  young  countrymen  and  me.  Our  feelings  and  natural  in- 
clinations induced  us  to  prize  and  retain  received  impressions,  to 
dwell  upon  them  a  long  time,  and  to  preserve  them  as  long  as 
possible  from  being  effaced  We  were  persuaded  that  constant 
and  regular  attention  is  the  source  of  improvement  in  every 
science,  and  that  perseverance  and  zeal  will  ultimately  succeed 
in  all  things  within  the  reach  of  the  judgment.  We  were  not, 
however,  insensible  of  the  advantages  which  high  life  and  good 
company  held  out  to  youth  in  France.  Rousseau  had  told  us 
the  truth  in  this  respect  ;  and  yet,  if  we  examined  his  life  and 
considered  his  destiny,  we  saw  him  condemned  to  regard  it  as 
the  best  recompense  of  all  his  labours,  that  he  was  allowed  to 
live  unknown  and  forgotten  at  Paris. 

When  we  heard  of  the  encyclopedists,  or  happened  to  open 
a  volume  of  their  enormous  work,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
situation  of  a  man  who,  walking  amidst  the  innumerable  spin- 
dles and  looms  of  a  great  manufactory,  stunned  with  the  noise 
and  confusion  of  the  machinery  that  dazzles  the  eyes  and  ren- 
ders the  brain  giddy,  on  seeing  the  quantity  of  involved  and  incom- 
prehensible apparatus,  and  contemplating  all  the  ingredients  and 
movements  requisite  for  the  manufacture  of  a  piece  of  cloth — 
should  feel  himself,  on  a  sudden,  disgusted  with  the  coat  on  his 
back. 

We  had  reason  to  look  upon  Diderot  as  closely  allied  to 
Gêrrhafry;  for  in  all  that  the  French  censure  in  his  works,  he 
appears  a  true  German;  but  his  views  were  too  elevated,  the 
sphere  of  his  ideas  too  extensive  to  admit  of  our  attaching  our- 
selves to  him,  and  marching  by  his  side.    But  his  Natural  Son. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHL, 


which  he  has  contrived  to  elevate  and  ennoble  with  great  ora- 
torical art,  pleased  us  highly  ;  his  brave  poachers  and  smugglers 
filled  us  with  enthusiasm.  This  rabble  has  since  been  but  too 
prolific  on  the  German  Parnassus.  Diderot  was,  as  well  as 
Rousseau,  at  the  head  of  those  who  propagated  a  distaste  for 
social  life,  and  who  calmly  planned  that  stupendous  shock  which 
seemed  ready  to  swallow  up  all  existing  institutions. 

If  we  apply  these  considerations  to  the  influence  which  these 
two  celebrated  men  exercised  over  art,  we  shall  perceive  that 
they  recalled  and  brought  us  back  to  nature. 

The  greatest  effort  of  art  is  to  produce  the  appearance  of  a 
grand  reality  by  an  illusion  ;  but  art  fails  of  its  object,  when,  by 
endeavouring  to  prolong  this  illusion,  it  presents  us  at  last  only 
with  a  common  reality. 

The  theatre,  as  an  ideal  scene,  had  attained  its  object,  by  ap- 
plying the  rules  of  perspective  to  the  disposition  of  the  scenes. 
But  it  was  wished  to  sacrifice  this  work  of  art,  to  close  the  sides 
of  the  scene,  and  thus  to  represent  a  real  room.  According  to 
this  disposition  of  the  scene,  the  plays,  the  manner  of  acting, 
and  every  thing,  in  short,  required  changing,  and  a  new  theatre 
was  to  be  formed. 

The  French  comedians  had  reached  the  highest  degree  of 
art  and  truth  in  comedy.  Their  situation  at  Paris,  the  continual 
study  of  the  manners  of  the  court,  the  connexions  of  gallantry 
between  the  actors  and  actresses,  and  persons  of  high  rank  ;  all 
contributed  to  naturalize  the  perfect  imitation  of  social  life  on 
the  stage.  In  this  respect  the  partisans  of  nature  found  little  to 
criticise  ;  but  they  thought  they  should  effectually  promote  thr 
progress  of  art,  by  choosing  for  the  subject  of  their  pieces  the 
serious  and  tragical  events  which  are  frequently  met  with  in  or- 
dinary life,  using  prose  for  the  most  elevated  language,  and  thus 
banishing  from  the  stage  the  verse,  declamation,  and  pantomime 
habitual  to  it,  as  unnatural. 

It  is  very  remarkable,  and  has  not  been  sufficiently  observed, 
that,  at  the  same  period,  the  old  tragedy,  so  measured,  so  attach- 
ed to  its  rhyme,  so  rich  in  the  conceptions  of  the  art,  was  threat- 
ened with  a  revolution,  which  was  with  difficulty  averted  by 
great  talents  and  the  influence  of  habit. 

The  celebrated  Lekain  represented  the  heroes  of  the  French 
tragic  scene  with  a  dignity  peculiar  to  himself.  His  acting  was 
distinguished  by  ease,  elevation,  and  dignity  ;  but  always  remov- 
ed to  a  certain  distance  from  the  reality  of  life.  An  antagonist 
named  Aufresne  suddenly  appeared,  and  declared  open  war 
against  all  that  deviated  from  nature  ;  he  aimed,  in  tragedy,  at 
the  most  perfect  truth  of  expression.  This  attempt  was  not  in 
harmony  with  the  state  of  the  theatrical  establishment  of  the 
Parisian  theatre.  He  was  the  only  one  of  his  party  ;  every 
one  else  sided  with  Lekain.  Aufresne,  firm  in  his  resolution, 
left  Paris  without  regret,  and  came  to  Strasburg.    It  was  them 


\S4= 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


that  we  saw  him  play  the  parts  of  Augustus  in  Cinna,  Mithri- 
dates,  and  several  others  of  the  same  kind,  with  as  much  dig- 
nity as  nature  and  truth.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  of  tall  sta- 
ture, but  rather  slender  than  stout.  Although  not  very  impos- 
ing, his  manner  showed  nobleness  and  grace  ;  his  acting  was 
calm  and  studied,  without  being  cold  ;  and  he  occasionally  dis- 
played considerable  energy.  He  was  allowed  to  be  a  very  ex- 
perienced artist,  and  one  of  the  few  who  perfectly  understood 
how  to  combine  nature  and  art  ;  but  these  are  precisely  the 
men  whose  art,  being  misinterpreted,  always  produces  false 
applications. 

It  is  here  proper  to  notice  a  short,  but  very  remarkable  work, 
Rousseau's  Pygmalion.  Much  might  be  said  respecting  this  sin- 
gular composition  ;  it  stands  in  some  degree  between  nature  and 
art  but  in  consequence  of  an  erroneous  conception,  art  givesway 
in  it  to  nature.  It  exhibits  an  artist  who  has  succeeded  in  pro- 
ducing a  masterpiece  ;  but  who,  not  content  with  having  reali- 
zed the  ideal  in  the  marble,  and  given  it  a  celestial  life,  must 
needs  debase  it  for  his  own  gratification,  to  this  earthly  existence. 
He  thus  destroys  the  most  sublime  production  of  genius  and 
talent,  by  the  most  vulgar  act  of  sensuality. 

All  these  ideas,  and  many  others,  some  correct  and  some  ridi- 
culous, some  true,  and  others  only  half  true,  contributed  to  con- 
fuse our  minds.  Thus  propensities  and  antipathies,  which 
were  almost  unnoticed,  were  in  all  quarters  preparing  that  revo- 
lutionin  German  literature  which  we  have  since  witnessed,  and 
in  which  we  have  incessantly  co-operated,  knowingly  or  un- 
knowingly, with  our  warmest  wishes  or  unintentionally. 

Neither  were  we  more  inclined  to  pursue  the  French  philoso- 
phy, which  afforded  us  no  promise  of  light  or  improvement. 
We  thought  we  were  ourselves  sufficiently  enlightened  with 
respect  to  all  points  which  concern  religion.  Accordingly,  the 
relentless  war  of  the  French  philosophers  against  the  priesthood 
never  disturbed  our  tranquillity.  These  books,  prohibited  and 
condemned  to  the  flames,  and  making  a  great  noise  in  the  world, 
were  to  us  almost  insignificant.  I  will  mention,  for  instance, 
the  System  of  Nature,  which  we  had  the  curiosity  to  read.*  It 
appeared  to  us  so  superannuated,  so  chimerical,  and,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  the  expression,  so  cadaverous,  that  the  very  sight  of  it 

*  Voltaire  refuted  this  book,  in  which  atheism  is  erected  into  a  system.  "  The 
author,"  he  writes  to  D'Alembert,  "  has  ruined  philosophy  in  the  minds  of  all 
magistrates  and  fathers,  who  know  how  dangerous  atheism  is  to  society."  The 
King  of  Prussia  also  wrote  a  refutation  of  this  work.  He,"  said  Voltaire,  "has 
taken  the  part  of  kings,  who  are  no  better  treated  than  God  in  the  System  of  Ma- 
ture. -As  to  -me,  I  have  only  taken  the  part  of  mankind." 

It  is  no  wonder  that  Goethe  and  his  friends  took  little  interest  in  the  war 
which  the  philosophers  waged  against  religious  fanaticism.  France  presented 
the  spectacle  of  the  executions  of  Calas  and.Labarre.  In  Germany,  and  even 
Alsace,  no  one  was  persecuted.  In  France  it  was  necessary  to  struggle  fortha* 
'"olerance.  which  in  other  countries  existed  undisputed. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE - 


185 


was  painful  to  us  ;  and  we  were  almost  afraid  of  it,  as  of  a 
spectre. 

The  author  seems  to  have  thought  he  was  annexing  an  excel- 
lent recommendation  to  his  book,  by  declaring  himself,  in  the 
preface,  an  old  man  detached  from  life,  with  one  foot  in  the 
grave,  desirous  to  tell  the  truth  to  his  contemporaries  and  to 
posterity.  These  pretensions  excited  only  laughter  in  us  :  we 
thought  we  had  observed  that  old  men  are  insensible  to  all  that 
is  good  and  lovely  in  the  world.  "  The  windows  of  old 
churches  are  black."  "  If  you  would  know  the  taste  of  cher- 
ries and  strawberries,  ask  children  and  birds."  Such  were  our 
proverbs.  The  book  in  question  really  appeared  to  us  the 
^quintessence  of  old  age — tasteless,  and  even  revolting  to  taste, 
According  to  the  author,  every  thing  is  necessary  ;  whence  he 
concludes  that  there  is  no  God,  as  if  the  existence  of  God  might 
not  also  be  necessary  !  We  readily  admitted  that  we  cannot 
escape  the  necessity  of  days  and  nights,  of  seasons,  the  influ- 
ence of  climate,  physical  circumstances,  and  the  conditions  of 
animal  life  ;  but  we  nevertheless  felt  in  ourselves  something 
which  manifests  itself  as  a  free  will  ;  and  something— reason  ; 
for  instance — which  endeavours  to  regulate  this  will.  Were  we. 
to  renounce  the  hope  of  incessantly  improving  our  conscious- 
ness and  understanding,  of  rendering  ourselves  constantly  more 
independent  of  external  objects  and  of  ourselves  ?  The  word 
liberty  sounds  so  agreeably  to  the  ear  and  the  heart,  that  we 
could  never  do  without  it,  even  if  it  only  expressed  an  error. 

Not  one  of  us  could  read  this  book  entirely  through  :  we 
were  too  much  disappointed  in  the  hopes  which  had  induced 
us  to  open  it.  The  author  professed  to  give  us  the  System 
of  Nature.  We  were  in  hopes  of  really  receiving  some  in- 
struction, with  respect  to  this  nature,  our  second  divinity. 
Physics,  chymistry,  the  description  of  the  heavens  and  earth, 
natural  history,  anatomy,  and  many  other  sciences,  had  long 
fixed  our  attention  on  this  universe,  so  vast,  so  richly  adorned. 
We  should  have  joyfully  hailed  any  new  observations  on  the 
sun  and  stars,  the  planets  and  worlds,  on  mountains,  valleys, 
floods,  and  seas  ;  on  all  that  moves  and  exists  in  them.  We 
were  well  aware  that  among  all  this  wrould  be  found  ideas 
which  to  common  minds  would  appear  hurtful,  to  the  clergy 
dangerous,  and  to  government  intolerable  ;  and  we  hoped  that 
the  work  would  not  be  deemed  unworthy  of  the  honours  of 
the  flames  :  but  in  what  a  mental  void  did  we  find  ourselves 
plunged  amidst  the  darkness  of  atheism,  in  which  the  author 
shrouds  the  world  and  all  its  creatures,  the  sky  with  all  its 
stars  !  This  magnificent  creation  was  replaced  by  an  eter- 
nally self-existing  and  self-moving  matter,  which  by  means  of 
this  motion  to  the  right  and  left,  and  in  all  directions,  has, 
according  to  the  author,  produced  the  innumerable  phenomena 
Pr  existence.    But  why  did  he  not.  with  this  matter  and 


186 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOÉTtfE. 


motion,  let  us  see  him  construct  a  little  world  ? — this  would 
have  been  a  pretty  strong  argument  in  favour  of  his  system. 
In  fact,  he  knew  no  more  of  nature  than  we  did  ;  for  after 
collecting  a  few  general  ideas,  he  suddenly  abandons  them  in 
order  to  metamorphose  into  a  material  and  heavy  essence,  self- 
moving  indeed,  but  without  direction  or  character,  that  which  is 
more  elevated  than  nature,  or  which  manifests  itself  in  nature  as 
a  being  of  a  superior  order  ;  and  he  thinks  he  has  gained  a  great 
advantage  by  this  change. 

But  if  this  book  did  us  any  harm,  it  was  by  inspiring  us  with  a 
cordial  aversion  for  all  philosophy,  and  particularly  for  meta- 
physics :  an  aversion  which  sent  ùs  back,  with  increased  ardour 
and  passion,  into  the  sphere  of  poetry,  and  the  studies  which 
suit  the  activity  and  warmth  of  life. 

Thus,  although  on  the  frontiers  of  France,  we  suddenly  found 
ourselves  wholly  exempted  from  French  influence.  The  modes 
of  existence  in  that  country  appeared  to  us  too  determined,  too 
much  subjected  to  the  influence  of  the  great  ;  the  poetry  of  the 
French  seemed  cold,  their  criticism  abusive,  their  philosophy  at 
once  abstruse  and  insufficient.  We  should  have  remained  firm 
in  the  intention  of  abandoning  ourselves  to  nature,  in  all  her 
wildness,  had  not  another  influence  long  previously  disposed  us 
to  consider  the  world  and  its  mental  enjoyments  from  a  most 
elevated  and  unconfined  point  of  view,  yet  equally  true  and 
poetical.  At  first,  this  influence  affected  us  only  in  secret,  and 
we  yielded  to  it  gradually  ;  but  we  soon  gave  ourselves  up  to  it 
openly  and  without  reserve. 

Can  it  be  necessary  to  add  that  1  allude  to  Shakspeare  ?  Does 
not  this  name  alone  render  all  further  explanation  needless  ? 
Shakspeare  is  better  known  in  Germany  than  any  where  else  ; 
even  better,  perhaps,  than  in  his  own  country.  We  render  him 
all  the  justice,  the  homage  he  is  entitled  to  ;  we  extend  to  him 
the  indulgence  which  we  refuse  each  other.  Men  of  the  most 
eminent  talents  have  made  it  their  business  to  present  all  the 
qualities  with  which  this  great  genius  was  endowed  in  the  most 
favourable  light  ;  and  I  have  always  heartily  subscribed  to  all 
that  has  been  said  in  honour  of  him,  and  to  every  defence  of  his 
admirable  talents.  I  have  already  described  the  impression 
which  this  extraordinary  mind  produced  upon  me,  and  the  few 
remarks  which  I  have  hazarded  on  his  works  have  been  favoura- 
bly received. 

I  shall,  therefore,  confine  myself  on  this  occasion  to  a  more 
precise  explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  I  became  acquainted 
with  Shakspeare.  When  I  was  at  Leipsic,  I  read  Dodd's  col- 
lection, entitled  The  Beauties  of  Shakspeare.  Notwithstanding 
all  that  may  be  said  against  collections  of  this  kind,  which  only 
make  an  author  known  piece- meal,  they  produce,  in  my  opinion, 
very  good  effects.  Our  understanding  is  not  always  strong 
enough  to  comprehend  the  whole  value  of  an  entire  work  ;  nor 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


187 


ûo  we  always  know  how  to  distinguish  the  passages  which  have 
an  immediate  relation  to  ourselves.  Young  people,  in  particu- 
lar, whose  minds  are  no  sufficiently  cultivated  to  possess  much 
penetration,  may  be  discouraged  if  they  have  to  choose  for  them- 
selves ;  and  they  have  a  greater  relish  for  the  brilliant  extracts 
which  are  detached  and  laid  before  them.  For  my  part,  the 
perusal  of  the  fragments  I  met  with  in  the  collection  above 
mentioned  is  among  my  most  agreeable  recollections.  Those 
noble  strokes  of  originality,  those  fine  sentiments,  those  excel- 
lent descriptions,  those  sallies  of  rich  humour,  so  frequent  in 
Shakspeare,  had  a  powerful  effect  on  me  when  presented  in  this 
insulated  manner. 

Wieland's  translation  of  this  author  appeared  soon  after  ;  and 
I  devoured  it.  1  made  my  friends  and  acquaintances  read  it. 
Germany  had  at  an  early  period  the  advantage  of  good  transla- 
tions of  many  excellent  foreign  works.  That  of  Shakspeare, 
published  at  first  in  prose  by  Wieland,  and  afterwards  by 
Eschenburg,  was  easy  to  understand,  and  soon  became  popular. 
It  excited  general  enthusiasm.  Metre  and  rhyme  are  undoubt- 
edly excellent  things  ;  they  are  the  primitive  and  essential  cha- 
racteristics of  poetry.  But  what  is  more  important  and  funda- 
mental, what  produces  a  stronger  impression,  what  acts  with 
greater  efficacy  on  our  minds,  in  a  poetical  work,  is  what  re- 
mains of  the  poet  in  a  prose  translation;  for  that  alone  is  the 
real  value  of  the  stuff,  in  its  purity  and  perfection.  A  dazzling 
ornament  often  makes  us  believe  there  is  merit  where  none  ex- 
ists, and  as  frequently  conceals  its  actual  presence  from  our 
perception  ;  accordingly,  in  my  early  studies,  I  preferred  prose 
translations.  Children,  it  may  be  observed,  turn  every  thing 
into  play  :  thus  the  echo  of  words  and  the  cadence  of  verses 
amuse  ihem,  and  they  destroy  all  the  interest  of  the  finest  work 
by  the  parody  they  make  in  reading  it.  I  think  a  prose  transla- 
tion of  Homer  would  be  very  useful,  provided  it  were  on  a  level 
with  the  progress  of  our  literature.  I  submit  these  ideas  to  our. 
able  professors,  and  in  support  of  them  I  will  only  refer  to  Lu- 
ther's translation  of  the  Bible.  Although  the  different  parts  of 
the  book  are  each  in  a  peculiar  style,  and  the  tone  varies  suc- 
cessively from  poetry  to  history,  from  command  to  instruction, 
this  superior  genius  has  given  it  in  our  language,  at  a  single 
cast,  as  it  were  ;  and  has  thus  rendered  a  greater  service  to  re- 
ligion than  he  could  have  done  by  endeavouring  to  transfer  the 
character  of  the  original  into  each  separate  part.  Vain  have 
been  all  subsequent  efforts  to  give  us  in  greater  perfection  the 
book  of  Job,  the  Psalms,  and  other  Hebrew  poems,  by  preserv- 
ing their  poetical  form.  The  effect  is  to  be  produced  on  the 
multitude,  for  whom  a  simple  interpretation  will  always  be  the 
best  thing.  These  translations,  which  are  the  works  of  a  refined 
taste,  and  strive  to  vie  with  the  original,  are  only  fit  for  amateurs 


188 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHF» 


of  talent,  whom  they  supply  with  a  text  for  discussions  whi 
amuse  them. 

This  popular  kind  of  effect  was  produced  on  our  German 
society  at  Strasburg  by  the  immortal  Shakspeare,  whether  trans- 
lated cr  original,  in  fragments  or  entire.  Thoroughly  as  men 
study  the  Holy  Scriptures,  did  we  familiarize  ourselves  with  this 
great  poet,  and  with  the  virtues  and  vices  of  his  times  which  he 
describes  so  admirably.  We  amused  ourselves  with  the  mimic 
imitation  of  his  characters.  His  proverbial  expressions  and 
flashes  of  comic  humour  excited  our  mirth.  1  was  the  first  to 
comprehend  his  genius  with  the  liveliest  enthusiasm  ;  and  my 
friends  caught  the  contagion  which  lifted  me  above  myself*  We 
were  not  ignorant  that  it  was  possible  to  dive  deeper  into  every 
part  of  the  British  poet's  excellence,  and  to  appreciate  it  more 
judiciously  than  we  did  ;  but  we  deferred  the  study  to  a  future 
period.  All  we  wished  for  at  the  time  was  to  enjoy  him  at  our 
ease,  and  yield  ourselves  up  to  the  fascination  of  a  free  imitation  ; 
we  could  not  bear  to  scrutinize  the  talents  of  the  man  who  af- 
forded us  so  much  pleasure,  or  to  look  for  his  defects.  We  took 
pleasure  in  greeting  him  with  unbounded  admiration.  A  cor- 
rect idea  of  our  notions  on  this  subject  may  be  formed  by  con- 
sulting Herder's  Essay  on  Shakspeare,  inserted  in  his  Disserta^ 
tion  on  Art  in  Germany  ;  as  well  as  Lenzen's  Remarks  on  the 
Theatre,  in  which  he  has  introduced  a  translation  of  Love's  La- 
bours Lost.  Herder  has  fully  entered  into  the  merits  of  Shak- 
speare, of  which  he  conveys  the  idea  with  admirable  precision,, 

Eager  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  time  we  had  to  pass  in  this 
fine  country,  we  did  not  lay  aside  our  custom  of  making  occa- 
sional excursions  in  it.  In  the  cloisters  of  the  Abbey  of  Mois- 
heim  we  admired  some  windows  which  were  very  finely  paint- 
ed. We  heard  burlesque  hymns  to  Geres  sung  in  the  fertile 
country  between  Colmar  and  Schelestadt.  At  Ensisheim  we 
were  shown  enormous  aërolites  preserved  in  the  church.  The 
fashionable  Pyrrhonism  of  the  age  led  us  to  ridicule  a  supersti- 
tious credulity,  little  suspecting  that  the  day  would  come  when 
these  singular  productions  of  the  air  would  fall  in  our  fields,  or 
at  least  be  preserved  as  great  curiosities  in  our  cabinets. 

I  shall  always  remember  with  pleasure  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Ottilienburg  (St.  Ottilia's  Mount)  Which  we  made  in  company 
with  about  a  thousand  of  the  faithful.  There,  amidst  the  ruins 
of  a  fort  built  by  the  Romans,  the  youthful  Ottilia,  daughter  of 
a  count,  had  been  induced  by  piety  to  choose  herself  a  retreat 
in  a  rocky  cave.  Near  the  chapel  in  which  the  pilgrims  pay 
their  devotions,  is  shown  the  spring  at  which  she  quenched  her 
ihirst  -,  and  many  interesting  anecdotes  of  this  pious  maiden  are 
related.  Her  name  and  the  portrait  I  formed  of  her  in  my  own 
^mnd  remained  deeply  impressed*  After  long  meditating  upon 
it,  I  at  length  bestowed  this  name  On  one  of  my  beloved  dauçh 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


189 


tcrs,  whose  pure  and  religious  hearts  have  secured  them  a  fa- 
vourable reception  in  the  world.* 

From  this  eminence  there  is  an  extensive  prospect  of  the 
grand  scenery  of  Alsace  ;  which,  although  so  well  known  to  us, 
always  seemed  to  display  new  charms.  Wherever  we  are  pla- 
ced in  an  amphitheatre,  the  sight  comprehends  the  whole  audi- 
ence, but  we  distinguish  none  but  our  neighbours  with  perfect 
clearness.  It  was  thus  that  we  viewed  the  thickets,  rocks,  hills, 
forests,  helds,  meadows,  and  villages,  which  we  perceived  in  the 
foreground  or  at  a  remote  distance.  Bale  was  pointed  out  to 
us  in  the  horizon.  I  would  not  affirm  that  we  saw  it  ;  but  we 
feit  a  lively  pleasure  in  perceiving  afar  off  the  azure  mountains 
of  Switzerland.  We  ardently  longed  to  visit  them,  and  the  im- 
pediments which  prevented  the  accomplishment  of  our  wishes, 
left  a  painful  impression  on  our  minds. 

I  abandoned  myself  with  a  sort  of  intoxication  to  all  these 
diversions  and  pleasures,  in  order  to  free  myself  from  the  pas- 
sion I  had  conceived  for  Frederica.  My  reflections  on  this  sub- 
ject had  been  followed  at  length  by  anxiety  and  sorrow.  A 
youthful  passion  which  is  conceived  and  entertained  without  any 
fixed  object,  may  be  compared  to  a  shell  thrown  from  a  mortar 
by  night  :  it  rises  calmly  in  a  brilliant  track,  and  seems  to  mix, 
and  even  to  dwell  for  a  moment  with  the  stars  5  but  at  length  it 
falls  and  bursts,  and  its  most  terrible  effects  are  produced  at  the 
spot  where  its  course  terminates.  Frederica  and  I  had  yielded, 
inconsiderately,  to  the  charms  of  mutual  tenderness  ;  but  I  was 
about  to  be  obliged  to  quit  Strasburg,  without  being  able  to  form 
any  plan  for  the  future,  and  with  every  probability  that  it  would 
be  a  long  time  before  I  should  be  in  a  situation  to  do  so.  At  my 
uge,  dependent  as  1  was  upon  a  father,  whose  consent  I  durst 
not  even  think  of  asking, — ignorant  and  unable  even  to  guess 
what  situation  1  should  one  day  hold  in  society;  devoted  to 
poetry  and  letters,  and  averse  to  all  other  occupations, — how 
could  1  entertain  the  hope  of  being  united  to  the  object  of  my 
affection  ?  Could  1  condemn  Frederica  to  set  her  fate  depend 
on  a  hope  so  remote  and  so  uncertain  ?  These  reflections 
came,  indeed,  very  late  ;  but  how  was  I  to  escape  the  inflexible 
yoke  of  necessity  ?  Frederica  herself  was  still  the  same  :  she 
appeared  unwilling  to  believe  that  our  pleasing  intimacy  was  so 
soon  to  have  an  end.  Olivia,  on  the  contrary,  who  saw  with 
pain  that  I  was  about  to  leave  them,  but  who  was  not,  like  her 
sister,  going  to  lose  a  lover,  had  either  more  foresight  or  more 
frankness.  She  frequently  talked  to  me  of  the  probability  of 
my  departure,  and  endeavoured  to  console  herself  both  on 
her  own  account  and  her  sister's.  A  young  woman  who  renoun- 
ces a  man  for  whom  she  has  acknowledged  an  inclination,  is  not, 
perhaps,  in  so  critical  a  situation  as  a  young  man,  who,  after 

;  ^he  heroine  of  one  of  Goethe's  romances  entitled  "  Elective  Affinities.'' 


Î90 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE* 


having  made  a  declaration,  is  under  the  necessity  of  withdrawing. 
He  always  has  a  melancholy  part  to  perform  ;  for  he  is  expected 
to  act  in  the  same  manner  as  a  man  of  riper  age,  and  to  have 
well  considered  his  situation.  If  he  displays  a  marked  levity 
of  character,  what  excuse  can  be  made  for  him  ?  The  motives 
of  a  voung  female  who  breaks  off  such  a  connexion  always  appear 
good  -,  those  of  a  man,  never.  But  all  my  reflections  were  in- 
sufficient to  prevent  my  continuing  to  indulge  in  a  habitual  in- 
timacy which  had  become  so  dear  to  me.  There  was  now  some- 
thing painful  to  me  in  Frederica's  presence  ;  but  I  found  infinite 
pleasure  in  thinking  of  her  and  conversing  with  her  in  her  ab- 
sence. I  seldom  went  to  see  her  ;  but  that  circumstance  in- 
creased the  activity  of  our  correspondence.  She  knew  how  to 
represent  her  situation  with  a  calm  serenity,  and  to  exprès-  her 
sentiments  to  me  in  an  affecting  manner.  I  reflected  on  her 
virtues  with  the  enthusiasm  of  friendship,  and  the  ardour  of 
passion.  Absence  disengaged  me  from  every  idea  unconnected 
with  my  love,  and  distant  conversation  restored  the  original  viva- 
city and  warmth  of  my  passion.  At  those  moments  I  used  to 
form  in  my  mind  a  complete  illusion  respecting  the  future  ;  and 
yet  every  thing  was  abruptly  tending  to  a  catastrophe,  as  always 
happens  on  an  approaching  parting. 

Notwithstanding  the  anxiety  and  extreme  affliction  I  fe't,  I 
could  not  withstand  the  desire  of  seeing  Frederica  once  more  : 
it  was  a  cruel  day  to  us,  and  its  circumstances  will  never  be  ef- 
faced from  my  memory.  When  I  had  mounted  my  horse  and 
offered  my  hand  for  the  last  time,  I  saw  tears  swimming  in  her 
eyes,  and  my  heart  suffered  as  much  as  hers.  1  proceeded 
along  a  path  that  leads  to  Drusenheim,  when  a  strange  vision, 
which  must  have  been  a  presentiment,  suddenly  disturbed  my 
mind.  I  thought  1  saw  my  own  image  advancing  towards  me 
on  horseback  in  the  same  road.  The  figure  wore  a  gray  coat 
with  gold  lace,  such  as  1  had  never  worn.  I  awoke  from  this 
dream,  and  the  vision  disappeared.  It  is  singular  enough  that 
eight  years  after,  as  1  was  going  to  see  Frederica  once  more,  ï 
found  my  self  in  the  same  road,  dressed  as  I  had  dreamed,  and 
wearing  such  a  coat,  accidentally  and  without  having  chosen  it. 
I  leave  every  one  to  judge  of  this  matter  as  they  please  ;  but  this 
singular  illusion  diverted  my  thoughts  for  a  time  from  the  grief  of 
parting  ;  I  felt  my  regret  at  quitting  this  fine  country,  and  all 
that  was  lovely  and  beloved  in  it,  gradually  softened.  I  roused 
myself  at  length  from  the  extreme  affliction  in  which  this  fare- 
well-day had  plunged  me,  and  1  pursued  my  journey  with  greater 
serenity. 

On  reaching  Manheim,  I  hastened  with  eager  curiosity  to  the 
celebrated  gallery  of  antiques.  Whilst  I  was  reading  Winkel- 
mann  and  Lessing  on  the  arts  at  Leipsic,  I  had  continually  heard 
talk  of  these  chef s-d- œuvre,  but  had  not  seen  them.  We  had 
nothing  but  academical  studies  of  the  Laocoon  and  a  few  others. 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOËTHE. 


191 


Ail  that  Oëser  told  us  respecting  these  monuments  was  nearly 
an  enigma  to  us  ;  for  how  can  an  idea  of  perfection  be  imparted 
to  mere  beginners  ? 

The  director  Verschapel  received  me  in  a  friendly  manner, 
One  of  his  people  conducted  me  into  the  hall,  where  he  left  me 
entirely  to  my  taste  tor  art  and  my  own  observations.  The  most 
magnificent  statues  of  antiquity  adorned  the  walls  and  filled  the 
interior.  I  walked  about  amidst  a  forest  of  living  marble,  sur- 
rounded by  a  population  of  ideal  beauty.  By  drawing  or  clos- 
ing the  curtains,  each  of  these  fine  figures  was  shown  in  its  most 
favourable  light.  They  were  moveable  on  their  pedestals,  and 
could  be  turned  about  at  pleasure. 

1  gave  myself  up,  for  some  time,  to  the  first  impression — the 
irresistible  effect  of  the  whole.  I  afterward  stopped  to  exa- 
mine separately  such  of  these  masterpieces  as  most  attracted  my 
admiration  :  and  who  will  deny  that  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  by 
his  half  colossal  size,  the  elegance  of  his  form,  his  noble  atti- 
tude, the  ease  of  his  gesture,  and  his  victorious  look,  triumphs 
over  all  his  rivals  and  over  ourselves  ?  After  having  contempla- 
ted him,  I  turned  towards  Laocoon,  whom  I  now  saw  for  the  first 
time  grouped  with  his  sons.  I  endeavoured  to  recollect  every 
thing  remarkable  that  I  had  heard  respecting  this  fine  group,  and 
the  discussions  to  which  it  has  given  rise,  but  my  attention  was 
frequently  withdrawn  from  it  by  other  chefs-d'œuvre.  The  dying 
Gladiator  long  absorbed  my  attention.  I  was  enchanted  with 
the  group  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  that  valuable  though  problema- 
tical relic  of  antiquity.  In  vain  I  endeavoured  to  analyze  the 
effects  of  this  delicious  contemplation  on  my  mind  ;  but  although 
I  could  not  force  myself  to  reflection,  nor  infuse  much  clearness 
into  my  ideas,  I  began  to  feel  it  possible  to  comprehend  the  cha- 
racter and  peculiar  beauties  of  all  the  objects  in  this  vast  collec- 
tion, by  examining  each  of  them  separately. 

It  was  the  Laocoon  that  I  observed  with  the  greatest  attention. 
It  has  often  been  asked  why  he  is  not  represented  as  crying  out  : 
but  this  celebrated  question  appeared  to  me  decided,  when  I  re- 
marked that  he  could  not  cry  out.  In  fact,  the  whole  energetic 
and  artist-like  conception  of  the  attitude  of  the  principal  per- 
sonage in  this  fine  group  results  from  two  circumstances  :  the  en- 
deavours he  makes  to  disengage  himself  from  the  serpent,  and 
his  efforts  against  its  bite.-  In  order  to  diminish  the  pain,  the 
abdomen  is  contracted,  and  hence  it  is  impossible  to  cry  out. 
I  communicated  these  remarks  to  Oëser  in  a  letter  :  he  did  not 
seem  to  think  highly  of  my  explanations,  and  merely  encouraged 
my  goodwill.  Fortunately,  1  have  long  matured  these  ideas  ; 
they  have  been  confirmed  by  new  observations,  and  1  have  ex- 
plained them  in  my  collection  of  the  Propylaea. 

To  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  so  many  sublime  works  of 
art,  was  added  a  foretaste  of  the  beauties  of  antique  architecture, 
I  found  the  cast  of  a  capital  of  the  Pantheon  ;  and  I  must  con- 


193 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


fess  that,  at  the  first  sight  of  these  elegant  and  magnificent  ieaves 
of  acanthus,  my  faith  in  the  sublimity  of  the  architecture  o<  the 
North  began  to  waver  a  little. 

The  contemplation  of  these  grand  monuments  ha.-  had  a  great 
influence  on  my  whole  life  :  yet  it  produced,  at  the  time,  no  re- 
markable effect  upon  me  ;  for  scarcely  were  the  doors  of  this 
splendid  hall  closed  after  me,  than  I  tried  to  shake  off  the  im-> 
pression  I  had  received.  I  felt  fatigued  with  the  examination  of 
all  these  figures,  and  endeavoured  to  divert  my  thoughts  from 
them.  1  was  not  again  drawn  into  this  attractive  sphere  until 
after  I  had  made  a  long  circuit,  Still  the  fruits  which  such  im- 
pressions bear  in  silence,  when  they  are  received  as  pleasures 
and  without  being  analyzed,  are  of  inestimable  value.  It  is  a 
most  fortunate  thing  for  the  young,  when  they  can  defend  them- 
selves from  the  spirit  of  criticism,  and  yield  up  their  minds  to 
the  impression  of  the  beautiful  and  excellent,  without  troubling 
themselves  to  discover  and  separate  ihe  accompanying  dross. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


1  returned  to  my  native  town  this  time  with  a  better  state  of 
health,  and  a  mind  better  disposed  than  I  had  brought  with  me 
on  my  first  return  ;  but  my  enthusiastic  notions,  and  the  multi- 
plicity of  tastes,  passions,  and  studies  that  divided  my  attention, 
could  not  fail  to  disagree  with  the  spirit  of  order  and  perseve- 
rance which  distinguished  my  father.  My  excellent  mother  was 
fully  employed  in  maintaining  harmony  between  us,  by  throwing 
a  friendly  vail  over  the  eccentricities  into  which  my  imagination 
betrayed  me.  At  the  same  time  my  father  was  not  dissatisfied 
with  my  efforts  to  please  him.  I  had  taken  my  degrees,  which 
was  one  step  towards  the  situation  in  life  he  intended  me  to  fill. 
He  was  very  anxious  about  my  dissertation  on  the  respective 
rights  of  the  Church  and  State,  and  entertained  hopes  of  even- 
tually overcoming  my  aversion  to  having  it  printed^ 

Of  the  odd  whims  by  which  I  tormented  my  mother,  the  idea  of 
bringing  home  with  me  a  young  musician,  whom  I  had  heard  play 
on  the  harp,  when  I  passed  through  Mentz,  may  serve  as  a  spe- 
cimen, I  had  been  pleased  with  his  dawning  talent,  and  thought 
it  perfectly  natural  to  take  him  under  my  protection.  1  have 
always  been  fond  of  seeing  young  people  attach  themselves  to 
me,  and  take  me  for  their  patron  ;  nor  have  all  the  unfortu- 
nate trials  1  have  made  entirely  cured  me  of  this  inclination. 
My  mother  very  justly  conceived  that  Mr.  Goethe  would 
not  be  pleased  to  see  me  introduce  a  wandering  musician  into 
one  of  the  most  respectable  houses  in  the  city,  with  as  little 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


ceremony  as  I  might  have  taken  him  into  an  inn.  She  therefore 
had  the  kindness  to  get  a  lodging  taken  for  my  protégé.  I  re- 
commended him  to  my  friends,  who  interested  themselves  in  his 
behalf.  I  met  him  a  few  years  afterwards  ;  but  I  did  not  per- 
ceive that  his  musical  talents,  which  at  first  excited  my  enthu- 
siasm,  had  materially  improved. 

I  now  found  myself  once  more  in  the  midst  of  the  amiable 
circle  that  surrounded  my  sister,  and  of  which  she  seemed  to  be 
the  queen,  although  she  had  no  ambition  to  reign.  Her  empire 
over  her  friends  was  that  of  an  amiable  and  intelligent  young 
woman,  who  is  a  kind  confidant,  and  not  likely  to  become  a 
rival.  This  friendly  circle  was  fond  of  hearing  me  read,  tell 
stories,  or  explain  my  literary  projects.  They  encouraged  me 
to  execute  my  plans,  and  chid  me  when  I  seemed  to  lay  them 
aside. 

Of  all  the  friends  who  visited  at  our  house  I  was  most  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  two  Schlossers.  Jerome  Schlosser 
was  a  very  learned  advocate,  who  used  to  rind  an  agreeable  re- 
creation in  the  study  of  ancient  literature.  He  also  amused 
himself  with  the  composition  of  Latin  poetry,  which  we  often 
enjoyed  much  pleasure  in  hearing  him  read  or  recite.  Had  I 
followed  his  advice  he  would  have  made  me  an  able  lawyer. 
His  brother  John  George,  with  whom  I  was  still  more  inti- 
mate, had  returned  from  Treptow,  having  quitted  Prince  Louis 
of  Wurtemberg.  He  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  its  business,  nor  was  his  improvement  in  national  and  foreign 
literature  less  conspicuous.  He  was  still  attached  to  the  prac- 
tice of  composing  in  several  languages,  but  his  example  no  longer 
excited  emulation  in  me.  1  had  devoted  myself  wholly  to 
our  national  idiom,  and  I  now  cultivated  those  of  other  coun- 
tries only  toqualifv  myself  to  read  their  best  authors  in  the  ori- 
ginal. The  uprightness  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  which 
distinguished  John  Schlosser,  rendered  him  almost  obstinate 
in  his  attachment  to  his  opinions,  which  were  founded  on  the 
most  ardent  zeal  for  the  good  of  society. 

These  two  friends  soon  introduced  me  to  Merk,  to  whom  I  had 
been  favourably  mentioned  by  Herder  on  his  return  from  Stras- 
burg.  Merk,  a  singular  character,  who  has  greatly  influenced 
me,  was  a  native  of  D  irmstadt.  I  never  heard  how  he  obtained 
his  education  :  all  1  know  is,  that  after  having  completed  his  stu- 
dies, he  went  into  Switzerland  as  tutor  to  a  young  gentleman, 
and  remained  a  long  time  in  that  country,  whence  he  returned 
married.  When  1  first  knew  him  he  was  paymaster  of  the  forces 
at  Darmstadt.  To  much  natural  intelligence  and  wit  he  had 
added  considerable  attainments,  particularly  in  modern  litera- 
ture ;  the  history  of  all  nations  was  familiar  to  him.  His  capa- 
city in  business,  and  his  abilities  in  the  exercise  of  his  functions, 
secured  him  universal  esteem.  He  was  received  in  all  company, 
being  a  most  agreeable  companion  to  those  who  had  not  learn*; 

Bb 


194"  MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 

to  dread  his  cutting  sarcasms.  His  long  thin  face  exhibited  a 
pointed  and  far  projecting  nose  ;  in  his  eyes  of  light  blue,  ap- 
proaching to  gray,  in  his  restless  but  observing  looks,  Ihere  was 
something  of  the  physiognomy  of  the  tiger.  Lavater  has  pre- 
served his  profile  in  his  works.  His  character  was  a  compound 
of  eccentric  contrasts;  he  was  naturally  kind,  confiding,  and 
noble  in  sentiment,  but  had  grown  angry  with  the  world  ;  and 
this  atrabilarious  humour  fermenting  in  his  head,  often  inspired 
him  with  an  invincible  inclination  to  malice  and  even  to  delibe- 
rate mischief.  At  certain  moments  he  was  calm  kind,  and  rea- 
sonable ;  at  others  he  sought  only  to  wound  the  feelings  of  those 
about  him.  The  Latin  proverb,  Fcenum  habet  in  cornu,  might 
have  been  applied  to  him.  But  we  readily  approach  a  danger 
from  which  we  think  ourselves  protected.  I  was,  accordingly, 
very  fond  of  his  company,  and  extremely  desirous  of  benefiting 
by  his  good  qualities,  in  the  persuasion  that  he  would  never  di- 
rect his  evil  genius  against  me.  Whilst  this  moral  restlessness 
of  his,  this  rage  for  tormenting  others,  thus  drew  their  hatred 
upon  him,  and  prevented  his  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  society, 
another  species  of  restlessness  in  which  he  delighted  was  equally 
hostile  to  his  tranquillity  of  mind.  He  was  afflicted  with  n  kind 
of  scribblomania,  to  which  he  was  easily  induced  to  give  way, 
since  he  wrote  with  great  facility  both  in  prose  and  verse,  and 
was  thus  entitled  to  figure  among  the  beaux-êsprits  of  his  time. 
I  still  possess  epistles  in  verse  from  him,  distinguished  by 
original  views  respecting  persons  and  events,  but  written  with 
such  offensive  energy  that  they  cannot  be  published  at  present. 
They  must  either  be  suppressed  or  reserved  for  posterity,  as 
proofs  but  too  convincing  of  the  secret  discords  01  our  litera- 
ture. This  disposition  to  vilify  and  destroy  rendered  him,  how- 
ever, dissatisfied  with  himself,  and  he  envied  me  the  innocent 
pleasure  I  enjoyed  in  painting  all  that  presented  itself  to  my  ima- 
gination in  agreeable  colours. 

His  literary  inclinations,  however,  often  gave  way  to  the  irre- 
sistible bent  which  urged  him  towards  commerce  and  the  me- 
chanical arts.  When  he  had  once  begun  to  curse  his  poetical 
talents,  or  when  his  fancy  no  longer  satisfied  his  demands,  he 
laid  aside  his  pen  and  poetry,  rushed  into  some  enterprise  in 
commerce  or  manufactures,  and  consoled  himself  by  getting 
money. 

In  the  mean  time  my  Faust  was  proceeding.  1  was  composing, 
by  degrees,  Goëtz  Von  Berlischingen  in  my  head.  The  study 
of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  still  possessed  attractions 
for  me.  The  imposing  monument  of  the  Minster  had  left  a 
deep  impression  on  my  mind,  and  in  some  degree  formed  the 
back-ground  of  the  picture  on  which  I  was  engaged. 

1  threw  together  all  my  ideas  respecting  this  kind  of  archi- 
tecture, which  I  wished  to  have  called  German  and  not  Gothic. 
In  the  first  place  Ï  maintained  that  it  was  national  and  not 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


195 


foreign.  I  next  asserted  that  no  comparison  could  be  made  be- 
tween this  species  of  architecture  and  that  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
because  the  principle,  he  parent  idea  of  the  two  arts,  was  not 
the  same.  Ancient  art.  orn  in  a  more  favourable  climate,  might 
rest  the  roofs  or  buildings  upon  columns,  and  leave  the  contours 
of  temples  almost  entirely  opened  to  the  air  by  numerous  aper- 
tures. But  the  principal  object  of  modern  art  is  to  shelter  us 
against  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  It  was  therefore  neces- 
sary to  surround  us  with  thick  walls  on  every  side.  Let  us  ho- 
nour the  genius  which  first  discovered  the  means  of  varying  the 
aspect  of  these  enormous  walls,  to  let  in  the  light  through  ele- 
gant ogivesj  to  cut  out  their  edges,  as  it  were,  with  extreme  deli- 
cacy, and  to  occupy  both  the  eye  and  the  thoughts  in  the  con- 
templation of  vast  surfaces  and  imposing  masses.  The  towers 
and  spires  which  shoot  up  into  the  air  possess  a  merit  analogous 
to  that  of  the  edifices  they  surmount  ;  and  although  they  do  not, 
like  cupolas,  represent  the  sky  in  the  inside  of  the  temple  itself, 
their  external  height  proclaims  to  the  surrounding  country  the 
existence  of  the  holy  monument  which  lies  at  their  base. 

f  also  devoted  part  of  my  time  to  a  more  profound  study  of 
the  sacred  books.  I  was  induced  to  engage  in  this  course  of 
reading  by  the  perusal  of  the  life  of  Luther,  whose  enterprises 
made  so  distinguished  a  figure  in  the  sixteenth  century.  My 
vanity  was  flaitered  by  this  occupation  of  searching  in  the  col- 
lection of  the  sacred  books  for  the  traces  of  their  slow  and  suc- 
cessive production  ;  for  I  was  persuaded,  contrary  to  the  gene- 
ral opinion,  and  to  that  of  my  friends,  that  they  had  been  revised 
at  different  periods.  I  also  took  a  peculiar  view  of  the  contra- 
dictions we  meet  with  in  the  Scriptures.  People  generally  en- 
deavour to  remove  them  by  taking  the  most  important  and  clearest 
passages  as  a  rule,  and  harmonizing  with  them  such  as  seem  con- 
tradictory or  less  easily  understood.  I,  on  the  contrary,  sought 
to  distinguish  those  parts  which  best  expressed  the  general  sense 
of  the  book,  and  rejected  the  rest  as  apocryphal. 

I  was  already  attached  to  the  method  I  am  about  to  explain., 
as  the  basis  of  my  belief.  Traditions,  and  especially  written 
traditions,  are  the  foundation  of  the  Bible.  These  determine 
its  spirit,  sense,  and  intention  ;  and  it  is  there  that  we  must  look 
for  all  that  is  pri  nitive,  divine,  induential  on  our  destiny,  and 
invulnerable  in  the  sacred  Scriptures.  No  external  action  or 
consideration  can  alter  the  primitive  essence  of  the  work,  any 
more  than  a  bodily  disorder  can  affect  a  strong  mind.  As  to  the 
language,  dialect,  mode  of  expression,  style,  in  short  to  the  wri- 
ting, considered  as  a  work  of  the  mind,  all  these  outward  forms 
have  undoubtedly  a  very  intimate  connexion  with  the  essence 
of  the  work,  but  they  are  exposed  to  alterations  and  injuries 
of  a  thousand  kinds.  In  fact,  the  nature  of  things  does  not  ad- 
mit of  transmitting  a  tradition  in  perfect  purity.  The  insuffi- 
ciency and  imperfection  of  him  who  must  necessarily  be  its  or- 


.MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


gan,  preclude  this  possibility.  Even  supposing  that  the  relation 
of  facts  remained  unaltered,  it  must  in  time  cease  to  be  perfectly 
intelligible  :  and  in  this  sense  it  may  be  truly  affirmed  that  no 
translation  faithfully  represents  the  original  it  professes  to  make 
us  acquainted  with,  on  account  of  the  difference  of  times,  places, 
and  above  all,  of  the  faculties  and  opinions  of  men. 

If  we  yield  to  the  critics  a  few  external  forms  which  have  no 
influence  on  our  souls,  and  which  may  give  rise  to  doubts;  if 
they  accordingly  decompose  the  work  and  pull  it  to  pieces,  they 
will  not  be  able  to  destroy  its  essential  character,  to  annihilate  the 
immense  perspective  of  the  future  which  it  presents,  to  shake  a 
confidence  firmly  established,  or  to  deprive  us,  in  short,  of  the 
principal  foundations  of  our  faith.  It  is  this  belief,  the  fruit  of 
deep  meditation,  which  has  served  as  the  guide  of  my  moral  and 
literary  life  :  1  have  found  it  a  capital  safely  invested  and  richly 
productive  in  interest,  although  I  have  sometimes  made  but  a 
bad  use  of  it.  It  was  this  manner  of  considering  the  Bible  that 
opened  to  me  the  knowledge  of  it.  The  religious  education 
which  is  given  to  protestants  had  led  me  to  read  it  through  seve- 
ral times.  I  had  been  delighted  with  the  wild  but  natural  style 
of  the  Old  Testament,  and  the  ingenuous  sensibility  that  per- 
vades the  New.  Hitherto,  indeed,  the  whole  had  not  entirely 
satisfied  me  ;  but  the  variety  of  characters  that  distinguishes  it3 
different  parts  now  no  longer  led  me  into  error.  1  had  learnt  to 
enter  into  the  true  spirit  of  the  work  ;  and  my  attachment  to  it, 
founded  on  deep  study,  blunted  all  the  arrows  of  mockery,  of 
which  I  clearly  perceived  the  bad  faith.  Without  detesting  those 
who  ridiculed  religion,  I  was  sometimes  quite  enraged  at  their 
attacks  ;  and  I  remember  that  after  reading  Voltaire's  Saul,  the 
fanatical  zeal  with  which  1  felt  myself  transported,  would  have 
tempted  me  to  strangle  the  author  if  1  had  had  him  near  me. 
On  the  other  hand,  1  was  pleased  with  all  researches  made  with 
tt  view  to  a  fair  examination.  1  hailed  with  joy  the  efforts  made 
to  improve  our  acquaintance  with  the  customs,  manners,  and 
countries  of  the  East,  and  I  continued  to  exercise  all  my  saga- 
city in  the  endeavour  to  gain  a  thorough  knowledge  of  these 
venerable  traditions  of  antiquity. 

The  reader  may  possibly  recollect  the  manner  in  which  I  had 
endeavoured,  in  childhood,  to  sanctify  myself,  in  imitation  of 
Those  patriarchs  represented  to  us  in  the  first  book  of  Moses. 
Wishing,  at  the  period  I  am  now  speaking  of,  to  proceed  regu- 
larly and  step  by  step,  1  took  the  second  book,  but  as  far  re- 
moved as  1  now  was  from  the  plenitude  of  life  that  animated  my 
infancy,  so  far  distant  did  this  second  book  appear  to  me  from 
the  first.  A  few  significant  words  in  it  sufficiently  demonstrate 
the  total  oblivion  of  the  times  elapsed.  "  Now  there  arose  up 
a  new  king  over  Egypt,  which  knew  not  Joseph,"  says  the 
author.  Although  I  did  not  feel  the  same  pleasure  as  when  1 
Tead  the  book  of  the  Patriarchs.  1  nevertheless  applied  myself 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


107 


with  incredible  industry  to  the  reading  of  the  whole  Pentateuch  ; 
and  formed  to  myself  singular  systems,  which  it  is  unneccssary 
to  introduce  here,  respecting  the  commandments  given  by  God 
himself,  the  residence  of  the  Israelites  in  the  wilderness,  and 
the  character  of  Moses. 

No;  lid  the  New  Testament  escape  my  researches.  I  exer- 
cised m)  critical  powers  on  its  various  texts,  but  full  of  attach- 
ment to  th;s  sacred  Book  I  heartily  repeated  the  salutary  saying  : 
M  Of  what  importance  are  contradictions  between  the  Evange- 
lists, if  the  Gospel  does  not  contradict  itself." 

Î  also  endeavoured,  but  without  much  success,  to  penetrate 
into  one  of  the  principal  dogmas  of  Lutheranism,  which  our 
modern  Lutherans  have  considerably  extended — the  predomi- 
nant inclination  of  man  to  sin.  I  made  myself  familiar  with  the 
jargon  appropriate  to  this  dogma,  and  made  use  of  it  in  a  little 
work  I  published  under  the  title  of  "  A  Letter  from  an  Ecclesi- 
astic to  a  New  Brother.*'  The  principle  of  this  essay  was 
tolerance,  the  watchword  of  the  time,  the  cry  of  all  the  well- 
disposed. 

In  order  to  sound  the  public,  1  had  several  essays  of  this  kind 
priived  at  my  own  expense  the  following  year.  1  gave  copies 
to  my  friends,  and  delivered  the  rest  to  a  bookseller,  to  dispose 
of  as  well  as  he  could.  Some  of  the  papers  noticed  it  favour- 
ably, and  others  with  severity.  It  excited,  however,  but  little 
attention.  I  have  still  a  copy  of  the  collection,  thanks  to  the 
care  with  which  my  father  preserved  it  ;  and  I  propose  to  add 
it  to  my  works,  with  a  few  inedited  essays  of  the  same  kind,  in 
a  new  edition. 

We  kept  up  a  spirited  literary  intercourse  with  Herder,  in 
which  there  was  nothing  wanting  but  a  little  more  amenity. 
But  his  habit  of  railing  and  snarling  remained  unaltered.  Swift 
was  Herder's  favourite  writer  ;  and  we  gave  him,  among  our- 
selves, the  nickname  of  the  Dean,  which  gave  rise  to  several 
mistakes  and  some  anger  on  his  part. 

It  was  nevertheless  with  great  pleasure  that  we  heard  of  his 
being  summoned  to  Buckeburg.  Count  de  la  Lippe,  his  new 
patron,  was  equally  famed  for  talents  and  bravery  ,  although  said 
to  !,e  a  singular  character.  It  was  in  his  service  that  Thomas 
Abbt  had  become  celebrated.  The  premature  death  of  that 
meritorious  writer  was  much  regretted  ;  while  all  applauded 
the  attention  of  his  protector  in  raising  a  monument  to  his 
memory,  and  in  appointing  such  a  man  as  Herder  to  succeed 
him. 

The  period  of  his  nomination  rendered  it  still  more  honour- 
able. It  was  at  that  time  that  the  German  princes  were  solicit- 
ous to  surround  themselves  not  only  with  men  remarkable  for 
their  science  and  fitness  for  public  business,  but  with  those  who 
were  distinguished  by  great  literary  talents.  The  margrave 
Charles  of  Baden,  full  of  zeal  for  every  thing  noble  and  useful 


198 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


to  mankind,  had  sent  for  Klopstock,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of 
confiding  a  public  employment  to  him,  as  to  embellish  his  court 
by  the  presence  of  this  eminent  genius.  All  the  productions  of 
this  poet's  pen  met  with  our  eager  admiration  and  homage. 
Whenever  an  ode  or  elegy  of  Klopstock's  could  be  procured, 
copies  were  speedily  taken.  When  the  princess  Caroline  of 
Hesse-Darmstadt  had  a  collection  of  them  made,  of  which  a 
very  small  number  of  copies  was  printed,  we  esteemed  our- 
selves happy  in  procuring  one,  by  means  of  which  we  com- 
pleted our  manuscript  collections. 

Klopstock  had  acquired  a  degree  of  respect  by  his  character 
and  conduct,  which  was  shared  by  other  persons  of  superior 
talents.  The  book  trade  in  Germany  had  hitherto  depended 
solely  on  works  of  utility,  scientific  books,  for  which  the  authors 
received  only  moderate  gratuities  ;  but  poetical  productions  ex- 
cited a  sort  of  religious  respect  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
thought  almost  an  act  of  simony  to  oiler  them  to  the  best  bid- 
der, or  to  accept  any  profit  from  them.  The  relation  between 
poets  and  their  publishers,  was  that  of  patron  and  client.  The 
former,  to  whom  public  opinion  ascribed  a  most  elevated  rank 
in  the  moral  system,  on  account  of  their  talents,  were  considered 
as  beings  superior  to  every  kind  of  material  interest,  and  glory 
was  the  only  recompense  that  was  deemed  worthy  of  their 
labours.  The  liberality  of  rich  booksellers  nevertheless  adminis- 
tered to  the  povertyr  of  the  poets  ;  and  the  balance  was  in  some 
degree  restored  by  a  pretty  frequent  exchange  of  mutual  ge- 
nerosity, between  munificent  patrons  and  grateful  clients. 
Gottsched  continued  to  reside  with  Breitkopf,  till  the  death  of 
the  former.  The  sordid  avarice  of  booksellers,  and  the  rapacity 
of  piratical  publishers,  were  then  unknown  evils. 

There  was,  however,  a  general  stir  among  the  German 
authors.  They  compared  the  mediocrity  of  their  fortunes,  and 
the  poverty  of  some  of  them,  to  the  wealth  of  the  booksellers  ; 
and  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  feel  the  most  anxious 
desire  to  secure  a  more  independent  and  certain  income. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Klopstock  proposed  a  subscription 
for  his  Republic  of  Letters.  The  price  he  fixed  was  a  louis  d'or. 
This  slight  tribute  was  considered  as  much  in  the  light  of  an 
offering  to  genius  as  of  the  true  value  of  the  work.  Many  per- 
sons, zealous  in  the  cause  of  literature,  and  among  them  indi- 
viduals of  high  distinction,  were  the  first  to  lay  down  the 
amount  of  the  subscription.  Every  one  was  eager  to  join  in  it; 
people  of  both  sexes  and  of  all  classes  wished  to  contribute  to 
this  pious  wrork.  Many  boys  and  girls  devoted  their  savings  to 
this  object  ;  the  general  expectation  was  excited  to  the  highest 
degree  ;  the  most  perfect  confidence  was  reposed  in  the  author. 

The  effect  of  the  appearance  of  the  work  was  very  singular. 
Notwithstanding  its  real  merit,  it  did  not  fulfil  the  public  expec- 
tation.   Klopstock's  opinions  on  poetry  and  literature,  declared 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOKTHE. 


199 


in  an  oracular  manner,  were  clothed  in  the  druidical  forms  of 
ancient  Germany.  His  maxims  on  true  and  false  taste  were  ex- 
pressed in  laconic  sayings  and  sentences.  The  utility  the  les- 
sons afforded  had  been  sacrificed  to  the  singularity  of  the  forms 
which  the  author  had  adopted.  This  book  was,  indeed,  a  trea- 
sure to  authors  and  scholars.  Men  accustomed  to  thinking  could 
follow  its  profound  thoughts  with  pleasure  ;  all  who  knew  how 
to  find  out  and  appreciate  the  beautiful,  mi^ht  discover  it  by  the 
light  of  the  torch  which  the  author  held  out  to  them.  But  to 
amateurs  and  persons  of  superficial  education,  his  work,  in 
which  he  had  been  expected  to  descend  to  the  level  of  every 
class  of  the  public,  was  a  sealed  book.  The  disappointment 
was  therefore  universal  :  yet  such  was  the  veneration  in  which 
the  author  was  held,  that  scarcely  a  murmur  was  heard  on  the 
subject.  The  young  people  of  fashion  consoled  themselves  for 
the  failure  of  their  expectations,  by  making  each  other  presents 
of  the  copies  for  which  they  had  paid  so  dearly.  I  myself  re- 
ceived several  from  young  ladies  of  our  acquaintance.  This  at- 
tempt, advantageous  to  the  author,  but  not  very  favourable  to  the 
public,  rendered  subscriptions  unpopular,  particularly  those 
which  were  to  be  paid  in  advance.  There  were,  nevertheless, 
loo  many  persons  interested  in  the  success  of  this  manner  of 
publishing,  to  allow  of  its  relinquishment  upon  a  single  trial, 
Dessau's  printing-office  offered  itself  as  an  intermediary  between 
authors  and  the  public.  Men  of  letters  and  publishers  formed 
a  company,  the  members  of  which  were  to  divide  the  expect- 
ed profits  in  certain  proportions.  The  want  of  such  a  resource 
had  been  so  deeply  felt,  that  this  undertaking  met  with  great  ap- 
probation at  first.  But  this  encouragement  did  not  last  ;  and, 
after  several  attempts,  the  losses  which  the  society  suffered  pro- 
duced its  dissolution. 

The  most  active  communications  were  now  established 
among  the  friends  of  literature.  The  journals  and  literary 
almanacs  were  open  to  poets  and  writers  of  all  descriptions.  I 
was  ardently  industrious  in  writing,  but  at  the  same  time  in- 
different to  all  1  produced  when  once  finished.  My  paternal 
affection  for  the  progeny  of  my  brain  awoke  only,  when  I 
was  engaged  with  my  productions  amidst  a  circle  of  friends. 
Many  persons  interested  themselves  in  my  labours,  whatever 
were  their  importance  and  extent,  because  I  took  great  in- 
terest in  the  works  of  others.  Whoever  was  capable  of 
writing,  and  disposed  to  attempt  it,  was  sure  to  meet  with 
encouragement  from  me.  I  spurred  them  on  and  urged  them 
to  compose,  and  to  abandon  themselves,  independently,  to  their 
own  inspirations.  They  acted  in  the  same  manner  towards 
me.  This  emulation,  although  carried  to  excess,  was  favour- 
able to  originality  of  talent,  and  gave  every  one  a  highly  agree- 
able importance  in  his  own  eyes.  In  this  continual  movement 
of  our  minds,  all  that  was  produced  was  the  fruit  of  a  sponta 


200 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


neous  impulse.  No  one  sought  the  light  of  any  theory  what- 
ever. These  youths  had  no  other  guide  than  the  sugges- 
tions of  their  own  tastes  and  tempers.  Such  was  the  origin 
of  the  character  of  that  celebrated  period  of  our  literature, 
decried  by  tome  and  eulogized  by  others,  in  which  the  ju- 
dicious employment  of  the  faculties  of  the  mind  produced 
the  happiest  results,  while  their  abuse  was  naturally  follow* 
ed  by  bad  effects.  The  picture  of  this  literary  revolution 
and  its  various  movements  is  the  principal  object  of  this 
book.  On  the  whole,  it  was  highly  remarkable  on  account 
of  the  numbers  of  young  men  of  talent  who  now  took  wing, 
and  who,  as  usually  happens,  relying  with  the  utmost  confi- 
dence on  their  own  abilities,  evinced  a  presumption  equal  to 
their  ardour. 

Such  was  the  situation,  as  far  as  concerns  studies  and  occu- 
pations :  but  in  youth  we  can  discover  no  interest  even  in  the 
objects  best  calculated  to  excite  it,  unless  we  are  animated  by 
love  :  unless  the  heart  is  touched  by  that  vivifying  sentiment. 
It  was  the  privation  of  this  sacred  flame  that  I  had  to  lament. 
My  sorrows,  however,  rendered  me  more  mild  and  indulgent  ; 
and  society  became  more  agreeable  to  me  than  at  that  brilliant 
period,  when  my  life  was  so  completely  occupied,  and  when  I 
was  starting  freely  in  its  career,  without  having  any  fault  to 
reproach  myself  with. 

1  had  taken  my  leaveof  Frederica  in  writing.  Her  answer 
cut  me  to  the  heart.  It  was  still  that  beloved  hand,  that  beau- 
tiful writing,  those  same  sentiments  which  had  made  me  think 
her  formed  for  me.  She  now,  for  the  first  time,  made  me  sen- 
sible of  the  extent  of  my  loss,  and  the  impossibility  of  my  re- 
pairing or  even  mitigating  it.  1  thought  of  all  her  virtues,  all 
her  charms,  and  the  sense  of  my  own  loss  plunged  me  in  the 
deepest  affliction,  embittered  by  the  consciousness  that  I  owed 
it  entirely  to  my  own  imprudence.  Margaret  had  been  torn 
from  me  ;  Annette  had  withdrawn  her  affection  ;  but  in  this  case 
I  myself  was  guilty.  iVly  blind  passion  had  inflicted  a  deep 
wound  on  the  most  lovely  of  minds  ;  and  the  anguish  I  felt  at 
renouncing  an  attachment  which  had  made  me  so  happy,  was 
increased  by  that  of  insupportable  remorse.  In  order  to  atone 
for  my  offences  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power.  I  sincerely  interested 
myself  in  the  feelings  of  those  who  had  loved  as  I  had  ;  I  stu- 
died how  to  extricate  them  from  difficulties  ;  how  to  prevent 
misunderstandings,  and  to  avert  from  others  the  misfortunes  I 
had  suffered  myself.  These  pursuits  procured  me  the  title  of  the 
Confidant,  as  my  roving  excursions  in  the  country  had  gained 
me  that  of  the  Traveller.  Nothing  but  the  sight  ot  sky,  moun- 
tains, vales,  fields,  and  forests,  could  restore  rne  to  any  degree  of 
tranquillity.  The  situation  of  Frankfort,  between  Darmstadt 
and  Homburg,  and  the  pleasantness  of  those  two  cities,  which 
had  become  more  intimately  connected  through  the  relationship 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHL. 


201 


of  their  sovereigns,  were  favourable  to  my  tours.  I  accustomed 
myself  to  live  as  it  were  on  the  road,  going  and  returning  like  a 
messenger,  from  the  plain  to  the  mountain,  and  from  the  moun- 
tain to  the  plain.    I  walked  about  Frankfort,  either  alone  or  in 
company,  often  taking  my  meals  in  some  eating-house,  that  I 
might  afterward  continue  to  wander  at  my  ease,  more  eager  than 
ever  for  nature  and  liberty.    In  these  wanderings  I  composed 
hymns  and  dithyrambics  of  a  singular  kind.  One  of  these  pieces 
has  been  preserved  under  the  title  of  the  Song  of  the  Traveller 
in  the  Storm.    It  was  composed  extempore  in  a  kind  of  trans- 
port, in  the  midst  of  a  storm  that  overtook  me  on  the  road.  At 
length  my  heart  felt  a  complete  void.    In  order  to  escape  dan- 
ger, I  avoided  all  intimacy  with  persons  of  the  other  sex  ;  but  a 
lovely  and  affectionate  being  was  attached  to  me,  although  she 
never  allowed  me  to  know  her  sentiments.    A  woman  equally 
beautiful  and  amiable  cherished  a  secret  passion,  which  I,  who 
was  the  object  of  it,  never  discovered.    My  ignorance  in  this 
respect  only  rendered  her  company  more  agreeable  to  me.  Al- 
ways easy  and  happy  in  her  society,  I  paid  her  unreserved  and 
affectionate  attentions.    It  was  not  until  long  afterwards,  and 
even  when  she  had  ceased  to  exist,  that  I  learned  the  secret  of 
this  celestial  love,  in  a  manner  which  surprised  and  grieved  mc 
exceedingly.    But  I  was  innocent  this  time  ;  I  could  give  tears 
equally  pure  and  sincere  to  her  memory  ;  particularly  as  my 
heart  was  entirely  at  liberty  when  this  mystery  was  revealed  to 
me,  and  I  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  living  for  myself  and  my  lite- 
rary inclinations. 

During  the  excess  of  my  affliction  for  the  loss  of  Frederica,  1 
had  recourse,  according  to  my  usual  custom,  to  the  consolations 
of  poetry.  I  wished  to  merit  absolution  from  my  conscience» 
I  continued  my  poetical  confessions.  The  two  Maries  in  Goëtz 
von  Berlischingen  and  Clavijo,  and  the  pitiable  figure  which 
their  two  lovers  make  in  those  pieces,  are  doubtless  the  results 
of  my  bitter  reflections  and  repentance. 

The  continual  exercise  I  took,  whilst  it  re-established  my 
health,  revived  the  faculties  of  my  mind,  and  restored  tranquil- 
lity to  my  bosom.  Pedestrian  excursions  appeared  to  me  too 
fatiguing  and  too  melancholy.  I  resumed  the  exercise  of  riding  ; 
and  at  the  approach  of  winter  my  young  companions  and  I 
adopted  that  of  skating,  which  I  had  never  tried.  I  now  prac- 
tised it  sufficiently  to  enable  me  to  make  long  excursions  on 
the  ice. 

We  were  indebted  to  Klopstock  for  our  taste  for  this  equally 
amusing  and  salutary  exercise.  W e  knew  that  he  was  passion- 
ately addicted  to  it,  as  his  odes  assured  us.  One  morning,  when 
a  fine  frost  promised  us  good  sport,  I  exclaimed  with  him,  as  I 
sprung  out  of  bed  : 

Animated  bv  the  jovful  vivacity  which  arises  from  the  coîî- 
Cc 


202 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


sciousness  of  health,  1  have  already  glided  far  over  his  brilliant 
crystal  that  covers  the  beach." 

"  What  a  tranquil  brightness  a  fine  winter's  day  sheds  over  the 
sea  !  How  does  night  spread  over  the  waters  a  covering  of  frost 
brilliant  as  the  stars!" 

Klopstock  was  certainly  right  in  recommending  this  employ- 
ment of  our  bodily  powers,  which  restores  us  to  the  vivacity  of 
childhood,  excites  youth  to  display  its  flexibility  and  agility^  and 
tends  to  withhold  age  from  sinking  into  inertness.  We  indulged 
with  passion  in  this  amusement.  A  fine  day  passed  in  skimming 
over  the  ice  was  not  sufficient  for  us  :  we  prolonged  our  exer- 
cise during  a  great  part  of  the  night  ;  for  whilst  other  efforts  fa- 
tigue the  body  when  too  long  continued,  this,  on  the  contrary, 
seems  to  increase  its  spring  and  force.  The  moon  emerging 
in  brilliancy  from  the  bosom  of  the  clouds  to  illumine  vast 
meadows  converted  into  fields  of  ice,  the  night  breeze  sighing 
as  it  approached  us  in  our  career,  the  reports  of  the  cracking 
ice  falling  with  a  thundering  noise  into  the  waters  which  yielded 
to  its  weight,  the  whirring  of  our  skates — all  gave  us  the 
strongest  impression  of  a  scene  from  Ossian.  We  took  it  in 
turns  to  recite  odes  from  Klopstock  5  and  when  we  met  at  twi-  " 
light,  we  used  to  make  the  welkin  ring  with  the  sincere  praises 
of  the  poet,  whose  genius  had  encouraged  our  pleasures. 

"What!"  we  exclaimed,  "  is  he  not  immortal  to  whom  we 
are  indebted  for  healthful  Joyousness,  exceeding  all  that  the 
swift  career  of  the  spirited  horse,  or  the  airy  motions  of  the 
nimble  dance,  could  ever  afford?" 

"  How  much  gratitude  is  due  to  the  privileged  being,  who  can 
ennoble  our  very  pastimes  by  the  graces  of  his  muse,  and  ren- 
der them  more  delightful  by  adorning  them  with  the  gay  colours 
of  poetry!" 

As  boys  whose  intellectual  faculties  have  made  great  progress 
forget  every  thing  for  the  most  simple  games  of  childhood,  when 
once  they  have  regained  a  taste  for  them,  so  did  We  appear,  in 
our  sports,  to  lose  sight  entirely  of  the  more  serious  matters 
that  demanded  our  attention.  It  was  nevertheless  this  exercise, 
this  abandonment  to  motion  without  object,  that  awakened  in 
me  more  noble  inclinations,  long  since  stagnated  within  me  ; 
and  1  was  indebted  to  these  apparently  lost  hours  for  the  more 
rapid  developement  of  my  old  plans. 

I  had  long  previously  acquired  a  taste  for  the  obscure  periods 
of  German  history,  upon  which  I  was  always  intent.  To  take 
Goëtz  Von  Berlischingen,  with  the  costume  and  appendages  of 
his  time,  as  the  subject  of  a  dramatic  work,  appeared  to  me  a 
lucky  thought  !  I  applied  to  the  original  sources  ;  I  studied 
Datt's  work  on  the  Public  Peace  with  great  application.  I 
figured  to  myself  as  correctly  as  possible  the  characteristic  fea- 
tures of  the  period.  These  moral  and  poetical  views  might  also, 
T  conceived,  be  serviceable  to  me  in  another  respect  :  they  were 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


203 


to  many  materials  to  fit  me  for  the  studies  I  was  about  to  termi- 
nate at  Wetzlar.  The  imperial  chamber  of  justice  was  one  of 
the  establishments  destined  to  maintain  the  public  peace,  and  its 
history  was  an  excellent  clue  for  disentangling  the  confused 
statements  in  our  annals.  The  constitution  of  the  tribunals  and 
the  army  is,  in  fact,  the  most  correct  indication  of  the  constitu- 
tion and  real  state  of  an  empire.  Even  the  finances,  to  which 
so  much  importance  is  attached,  are  far  from  being  in  reality 
equally  material  ;  for  when  the  treasury  is  empty,  it  is  only- 
taking  from  individuals  what  they  have  amassed  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brows,  and  by  this  easy  expedient  the  state  is  always  rich 
enough  ! 

It  is  here  proper  to  introduce  a  short  notice  of  this  imperial 
chamber  of  Wetzlar,  of  which  I  was  about  to  study  the  basis, 
the  proceedings,  and  the  abuses. 

The  German  States  being  desirous  to  put  an  end  to  the  anar- 
chy that  prevailed  in  Germany,  proposed  the  establishment  of  a 
supreme  court  of  justice.  Such  an  institution,  supposing  it  judi- 
ciously conceived,  tended  to  increase  the  authority  of  the  Diet, 
whilst  it  limited  the  imperial  power.  The  Emperor  Frederic 
III.  accordingly  eluded  its  establishment.  His  son  Maximilian, 
being  pressed  by  foreign  opposition,  was  more  inclined  to  con- 
ciliatory measures,  and  created  the  supreme  tribunal.  The 
diet  sent  counsellors  to  it  ;  they  were  to  be  twenty-four  in  num- 
ber, but  twelve  only  were  appointed  at  first. 

The  radical  and  incurable  defect  of  this  institution  was  that 
which  attaches  to  almost  all  human  establishments.  Inadequate 
means  were  employed  for  the  execution  of  a  vast  plan.  The 
number  of  the  assessors  was  too  limited.  But  how  would  it 
have  been  possible  to  accomplish  the  object  originally  proposed  ? 
The  Emperor  did  not  look  with  a  favourable  eye  on  an  institu- 
tion rather  injurious  than  beneficial  to  his  power.  As  for  the 
States,  they  regarded  it  only  as  the  means  of  staying  the  effu- 
sion of  blood  by  the  abolition  of  private  wars  and  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  public  peace.  But  they  dreaded  fresh  expenses, 
and  wished  to  obtain  the  advantages  they  sought  as  cheaply  as 
possible. 

The  sovereign  court,  however,  commenced  its  functions. 
Scarcely  had  it  assembled,  when  it  began  to  feel  its  strength,  and 
to  be  sensible  of  the  eminence  on  which  it  was  placed,  and  of 
all  its  political  importance.  The  zeal  and  industry  which  it  at 
first  displayed,  obtained  it  great  influence  and  respect  through- 
out the  empire.  Many  complicated  affairs  and  private  suits  re- 
mained, however,  in  suspense.  But  the  evil  consequences  of 
these  delays  did  not  fall  upon  the  empire  ;  they  injured  only  a 
certain  number  of  families.  If  the  lawfulness  of  some  few 
titles  was  not  very  clearly  proved,  property  and  proprietors  in 
general  were  secured,  violence  was  repressed,  and  the  empire 
enjoyed  peace.    In  order  to  act  with  full  efficacy,  the  court 


201 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


only  wanted  the  privilege  of  placing  the  guilty  under  the  ban  ot 
the  empire. 

But  the  reduction  of  the  number  of  assessors  and  frequent 
interruptions  in  the  sittings  of  the  Chamber,  caused  by  changes 
of  residence,  produced  an  immense  accumulation  of  business  in 
arrear. 

On  the  peace  of  Westphalia  several  men  of  talent  endeavour- 
ed to  contrive  a  lever  to  raise  this  rock  of  Sisyphus.  It  was  de- 
termined that  the  number  of  assessors  should  be  increased  to 
fifty.  But  ihe  dread  of  expense  again  reduced  them  to  half  that 
number.  Yet  it  would  have  required  only  two  hundred  thou- 
sand florins  to  pay  fifty  assessors  ;  a  sum  that  would  have  been 
but  a  trifling  burthen  to  Germany.  The  interests  of  the  two 
prevailing  religions  opposed  the  scheme  of  applying  part  of  the 
property  of  the  church  to  the  expenses  of  the  chamber.  The 
catholics  were  unwilling  to  make  further  sacrifices;  the  protest- 
ants  did  not  choose  to  part  with  what  they  had  acquired.  In 
consequence  of  these  divisions,  the  interest  taken  by  the  States 
in  this  institution  daily  decre?*;  cd.  The  most  powerful  princes 
sought  to  free  themselves  from  its  authority  ;  they  were  unwil- 
ling to  be  liable  to  the  jurisdiction  of  a  supreme  court,  and  they 
refused  to  contribute  to  its  expenses.  The  weaker  princes,  con- 
sidering themselves  overcharged,  deferred  the  payment  of  their 
contingent  as  long  as  possible. 

A  new  obligation  imposed  on  the  chamber  became  a  fresh 
cause  of  the  loss  of  its  time.  It  had  already  been  subjected  to 
an  annual  inspection.  Princes  or  their  delegates  repaired  to  the 
city  in  which  it  sat,  and  examined  the  state  of  its  treasury  and 
the  means  of  securing  its  receipts.  They  were  at  the  same 
time  charged  to  accelerate  the  progress  of  business,  and  to  re- 
medy abuses.  They  were  afterwards  intrusted  with  the  power 
of  prosecuting  and  punishing  the  personal  faults  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  chamber.  As  the  suitors  constantly  endeavoured  to 
prolong  their  hopes  of  success  by  appeals  to  the  supreme  juris- 
dictions, the  inspectors  soon  became  a  court  of  revision,  to 
which  recourse  was  often  had,  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating 
the  proceedings. 

Notwithstanding  these  various  disadvantages,  this  institution 
would  have  been  very  efficacious,  had  the  sovereign  court,  when 
first  established,  consisted  of  a  sufficient  number  of  members. 
In  that  case  it  would  really  have  merited  the  title  of  the  Am- 
phictyonic  tribunal,  which  was  conferred  upon  it  only  to  add  to 
its  dignity.  It  might  have  become  a  respectable  power,  and 
an  intermediate  between  the  head  and  the  members  of  the 
empire. 

But,  instead  of  this,  it  went  on  in  a  languishing,  ineffectual 
manner  during  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Fifth  and  the  thirty 
years'  war.  It  is  even  a  wonder  how  men  could  be  found  zeal- 
ous enough  to  devote  themselves  to  such  unthankful  labour- 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


205 


But  such  persons  were  found,  and  their  perseverance  does  ho- 
nour to  the  national  character. 

The  president  Furstemberg,  who,  in  those  times  of  anarchy 
evinced  extraordinary  integrity  and  firmness,  is  still  held  in  ho- 
nour. His  death  was  followed  by  the  most  mischievous  abuses. 
The  magistrates,  being  obliged  to  select  from  the  immense  mass 
of  business  such  as  merited  the  preference,  opened  the  poor  to 
partiality  and  intrigue.  It  often  happened  that  when  suits  had 
Jong  been  protracted,  the  deaths  of  parties  or  amicable  arrange- 
ments had  put  an  end  to  the  litigation,  and  nobody  was  inter- 
ested in  obtaining  judgment.  To  obviate  this  inconvenience, 
the  court  began  to  give  judgment  only  when  solicited  ;  which 
innovation  produced  still  more  heinous  abuses,  and  frequent  at- 
tempts at  corruption. 

The  army  and  tribunals  were  the  first  objects  of  the  attention 
of  Joseph  II.  on  his  elevation  to  the  imperial  throne.  His  own 
ideas  and  the  example  of  Frederick  the  Great  led  him  to  pay 
great  attention  to  these  important  institutions.  He  observed  the 
irregularities  and  abuses  which  had  crept  into  the  sovereign 
chamber  ;  and  without  first  satisfying  himself  of  the  possibility 
of  a  reform,  he  ordered  an  immediate  inspection  to  take  place. 
This  had  not  been  regularly  done  for  one  hundred  and  sixty-six 
years.  An  immense  mass  of  arrears  had  accumulated,  and  was 
every  year  increasing.  Seventeen  assessors,  the  number  of  the 
effective  members,  were  unable  to  get  through  even  the  current 
business.  Twenty  thousand  old  causes  were  in  suspense.  The 
number  of  causes  waiting  for  revision  might  be  estimated  at 
fifty  thousand.  The  course  of  justice  was,  moreover,  impeded 
by  a  multitude  of  abuses,  the  most  serious  of  which  was  the  cor- 
ruption of  some  of  the  assessors. 

When  I  reached  Wetzlar,  the  inspection  had  been  several 
years  in  progress  ;  the  accused  assessors  had  been  suspended 
from  their  functions,  and  inquiries  into  their  offences  were  pro- 
ceeding. The  most  zealous  and  best-informed  professors  of 
public  law  in  Germany  had  published  works  in  which  they  de- 
veloped their  plans  for  the  benefit  of  society.  On  perusal  of 
these  works,  which  laid  before  us  the  constitution  of  the  empire, 
one  could  not  but  wonder  how  so  monstrous  a  political  body, 
weakened  by  so  many  disorders,  could  continue  to  subsist.  The 
conflict  of  opinions,  disputes  on  the  rights  of  the  emperor  and 
empire,  the  great  and  small  states,  the  catholics  and  the  protest- 
ants,  occupied  all  minds. 

The  more  I  examined  into  the  state  of  affairs,  the  less  reason 
did  I  see  to  promise  myself  an  agreeable  residence  at  Wetzlar. 
A  small  and  ill-built,  though  well-situated  town  ;  two  classes  of 
inhabitants,  the  natives  and  strangers,  and  the  latter  employed 
in  thoroughly  scrutinizing  the  conduct  of  the  former  ;  one  tribu- 
nal trying,  and  another  under  trial  ;  a  great  number  of  inhabit- 
ants apprehensive  of  being  implicated  in  the  informations  ;  manv 


^06 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


persons  who  had  long  been  respected,  now  convicted  of  crimi- 
nal acts,  and  threatened  with  the  most  shameful  punishments  ; — 
all  these  circumstances  together  produced  the  most  distressing 
ideas,  and  rendered  it  extremely  unpleasant  to  meddle  in  affairs 
so  intricate  in  themselves,  and  further  complicated  by  so  many 
external  causes. 

I  had  been  induced  to  visit  this  city  by  the  desire  of  gaining 
knowledge,  and  a  wish  for  change  of  situation.  I  had  been 
persuaded  that  the  civil  and  public  law  of  Germany  would  there 
be  my  only  studies,  and  that  I  should  have  to  relinquish  all  po- 
etical subjects.  I  was  therefore  agreeably  surprised  at  finding, 
instead  of  dull,  tedious  society,  all  the  enjoyments  of  academic 
life.  At  an  excellent  table  d  hôte  I  met  with  several  agreeable 
young  men  of  the  town,  and  others  belonging  to  the  commission 
of  inspection.  An  order  of  chivalry  had  been  instituted  among 
them  ;  a  matter  wholly  insignificant  at  bottom,  and  established 
only  for  the  amusement  of  the  members.  Gotter,  one  of  the 
company,  induced  me  to  compose  a  few  verses  which  he  sent  to 
the  editor  of  the  Gottingcn  Almanac,  with  which  he  was  con- 
nected. 

This  circumstance  brought  me  into  communication  with  seve- 
ral young  men  of  great  talents,  who  have  since  acquired  cele- 
brity by  their  literary  labours  ;  among  whom  were  the  two 
Counts  Stolberg,  Burger,  Voss,  Hœlty,  and  several  others,  all 
united  in  inclination  and  opinion  by  their  devotion  to  Klopstock. 
whose  influence  was  of  universal  extent.  In  this  daily  increasing 
circle  of  German  poets,  distinguished  by  diversified  talents,  a 
spirit  soon  manifested  itself  of  a  nature  wholly  foreign  to  poetry, 
and  which  I  know  not  well  how  to  characterize  :  I  shall,  how- 
ever, venture  to  call  it  that  thirst  for  independence  which  ori 
ginates  in  the  bosom  of  peace.  During  war  we  endure  the  con- 
straint of  force  as  well  as  we  can.  We  suffer  in  person  and 
property,  but  not  in  conscience.  We  yield  without  shame  to  the 
yoke  of  necessity.  We  grow  accustomed  to  ill  usage  both  from 
friends  and  enemies.  We  form  wishes,  but  we  have  no  will  of 
our  own.  In  peace,  on  the  contrary,  we  abandon  ourselves  to 
the  sentiment  of  liberty  so  natural  to  man,  which,  the  more  wc 
enjoy  it,  the  more  we  wish  to  extend.  We  conceive  an  aversion 
to  all  constraint  ;  and  this  delicate  sentiment,  irritable  as  the 
temper  of  the  sick,  assumes  in  noble  minds  the  colour  of  a  love 
of  justice.  This  disposition  appeared  in  all  quarters  ;  and  even 
where  scarcely  a  trace  of  human  oppression  could  be  perceiv- 
ed, men  were  solicitous  to  oppose  that  of  fate.  Thus  a  kind  of 
moral  insurrection  and  conspiracy  burst  forth,  which,  although 
laudable  in  its  origin,  ended  in  unfortunate  results  which  had  not 
been  foreseen. 

Voltaire  had  done  himself  honour  by  the  distinguished  protec- 
tion he  had  afforded  to  the  Calas  family.  Lavater's  enterprise 
against  the  grand  baily  of  Zurich  excited  still  more  notice  in 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


207 


Germany,  and  produced  a  greater  effect  :  this  sentiment  of  the 
beautiful  in  morality,  excited  by  the  courage  of  youth,  spread 
rapidly  in  all  directions.  Men  had  hitherto  studied,  in  order  to 
qualify  themselves  for  employments  ;  and  acquired  knowledge, 
in  order  to  watch  those  who  were  in  office.  The  time  was  ap- 
proaching when  dramatists  and  romance  writers  were  to  choose 
their  odious  characters  from  among  ministers  and  agents  of  power. 
At  a  subsequent  period,  journalists  and  authors  indulged  with  a 
kind  of  fury,  under  colour  of  an  ardent  zeal  for  justice,  in  provo- 
catives addressed  to  the  public,  which  they  looked  upon  as  a  tri- 
bunal established  to  decide  every  thing  in  the  last  resort.  But 
their  efforts  were  unavailing.  In  Germany,  which  is  parcelled 
out  into  so  many  states,  there  is  no  public  possessed  of  effective 
strength  ;  no  power  in  public  opinion  to  protect  or  condemn  at 
pleasure  those  who  are  subjected  to  its  judgment. 

In  the  circle  of  my  young  acquaintances,  there  was  nothing 
which  indicated  this  kind  of  impulse,  or  could  expose  us  to  any 
such  accusation  ;  yet  the  spirit  which  animated  us  in  our  poeti- 
cal enthusiasm  was  in  some  degree  analogous  to  this  inclination 
to  independence. 

Klopstock  had  strongly  excited  every  German  mind,  by  his 
battle  of  Arminius,  and  his  dedication  of  that  poem  to  Joseph 
II.  The  poet  had  painted  in  powerful  and  brilliant  colours  the 
energetic  efforts  of  the  Germans  to  throw  off  the  Roman  yoke. 
These  images  were  well  adapted  to  rouse  national  pride  ;  but  in 
peace,  patriotism  ought  to  consist  only  in  the  performance  of 
private  duties.*  This  patriotic  feeling,  excited  by  Klopstock, 
fyad  no  object  to  exert  its  power  upon.  Frederic  had  defended 
the  honour  of  a  part  of  Germany  against  a  formidable  league  ; 
and  every  German,  whilst  he  paid  homage  to  that  great  prince, 
was  entitled  to  take  part  in  his  triumphs.  But,  at  the  period  we 
had  reached,  of  what  importance  was  this  warlike  pride  ?  What 
direction  could  it  take  ?  What  effect  could  it  produce  ?  It  was 
a  mere  burst  of  poetical  enthusiasm,  which  gave  birth  to  those 
songs  of  bards  which  have  since  been  so  much  criticized  and 
deemed  so  ridiculous.  Having  no  longer  any  real  enemy  to  con- 
tend with,  people  invented  tyrants  for  themselves,  and  looked 
for  them  in  the  reigning  princes  and  their  servants.  Poetry  en- 
tered warmly  into  public  law,  and  all  its  productions  were  im- 
pressed with  a  character  of  resistance  to  aristocracy  and  monar- 
chical power. 

For  my  part  I  continued  to  employ  the  Muse  in  the  expression 
of  my  sentiments  and  fancies.  It  was  at  this  period  that  I  com- 
posed several  little  pieces,  such  as  the  Traveller,  which  were  in- 
serted in  the  Gottingen  Almanac  of  the  Muses.    Such  impres- 

':'  Here,  a3  in  several  other  passages,  Goëthe  seems  to  advocate  indifference  in 
politics.  But  we,  who  live  under  a  representative  government,  may  be  allowed 
to  think  that  even  in  time  of  peace  every  citizen  has  public  duties  to  perform,  an* 
ought  always  to  interest  and  exert  himself  for  hi?  country's  welfare. — Ep, 


208 


MEMOIRS  OF  GO-KTME. 


sions  as  I  felt  analogous  to  the  prevailing  spirit  of  the  age  I  sooii 
afterwards  inserted  in  Goëtz  Von  Berlischingen.  In  that  piece 
I  represented  the  errors  of  an  honourable  and  well  intentioned 
man,  who,  misled  by  the  anarchical  character  of  the  times  he 
lives  in,  usurps  the  place  of  the  laws  and  public  authority, 
and  falls  into  despair  as  soon  as  he  finds  that  the  head  of  the 
empire,  the  only  power  he  respects,  treats  him  as  a  rebellious 
subject. 

Klopstock's  odes  had  introduced  into  German  poetry  the  no- 
menclature of  the  divinities  of  the  North,  rather  than  its  antique 
mythology.  I  had  long  been  acquainted  with  the  fables  of  the 
Edda,  through  Mallet's  Introduction  to  the  History  of  Denmark. 
I  often  made  them  the  subjects  of  tales  which  I  recited  to  my 
friends.  Resenius,  whose  works  Herder  had  induced  me  to  read, 
had  made  me  acquainted  with  the  Sagas.  But  my  imagination 
could  not  recognise  in  these  fantastic  divinities  of  the  North, 
which  too  ciosely  resemble  the  heroes  of  Ossian,  the  kind  of  life 
with  which  the  deities  of  Greece  and  Rome  appear  to  us  to  be 
animated  by  the  chisels  of  the  greatest  artists  the  world  has  pro- 
duced. Those  northern  divinities  seemed  to  me  too  much  out 
of  nature.  What  was  I  to  gain  by  substituting  Woden  for  Jupi- 
ter, and  Thor  for  Mars  ;  and  sacrificing  the  truly  celestial  figures 
of  the  gods  of  the  South  to  shadows,  and  even  to  words  without 
images  ?  Not  that  I  had  no  taste  for  the  ironical  kind  of  gayety 
that  pervades  the  whole  of  the  northern  mythology  ;  with  the 
singular  dynasty  of  divinities  which  it  opposes  to  the  giants,  en- 
chanters, and  monsters  who  are  always  engaged  in  leading  its 
heroes  astray,  deceiving  them,  and  threatening  them  with  an 
ignominious  end,  which,  but  for  the  intervention  of  the  gods, 
would  appear  inevitable. 

A  similar  kind  of  interest  attached  me  to  the  Indian  fables,  with 
which  I  began  to  get  acquainted  by  means  of  Dapper's  Voyage, 
and  which  I  added  to  my  mythological  stores  with  pleasure. 
The  altar  of  Ram  became  the  ornament  of  my  tales  ;  and  not- 
withstanding the  incredible  multiplicity  of  the  personages  of 
these  fables,  the  ape  Hanneman  was  the  favourite  of  my  auditory. 
But  I  found  all  these  monstrous  personages  unfit  to  form  part  of 
my  poetical  furniture  ;  the  imagination  being  either  unable  to 
conceive  them  at  all,  or  only  able  to  comprehend  them  under 
absurd  and  ridiculous  forms. 

A  favourable  circumstance  secured  me  against  the  influence 
of  these  spectres,  so  repugnant  to  my  notions  of  the  beautiful  in 
art.  It  was  at  this  period  that  certain  travellers  had  several 
times  attempted  to  diffuse  over  Homer's  poems  that  light  which 
others  had  thrown  upon  the  Scriptures.  Happy  period  for  let- 
ters, when  the  love  of  truth  and  nature  in  a  manner  revived  the 
masterpieces  of  antiquity,  and  renewed  their  effects  on  the  feel- 
ings  by  illustrating  them  with  new  light  !  Guys  and  Wood  suc- 
cessively rendered  this  service  to  the  father  of  poetrv 


ATEM01RS  OF  GOETHE. 


We  did  not,  however,  adopt  the  opinion  of  the  day,  which  com- 
pared the  characters  and  manners  of  Homer's  heroes  to  those  of 
the  savages  of  the  new  world.  How  could  we  fail  to  remark 
that  his  poems  discover,  in  the  people  he  represents,  so  high  a 
degree  of  civilization  as  it  is  even  difficult  to  conceive  they  had 
reached  at  the  period  of  the  siege  of  Troy  ? 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  occupations,  so  agreeable  to  a  friend 
of  poetry  and  the  arts,  I  was  still  sensible  that  1  was  at  Wetzlar. 
Conversation  perpetually  turned  on  the  Chamber  of  Inspection, 
the  obstacles  it  met  with,  and  the  crimes  it  was  incessantly  dis- 
covering. This  was  the  second  time  that  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire  had  been  laid  before  my  eyes  ;  it  was  not  now  by  means 
of  public  ceremonies  and  entertainments,  but  of  interests  of  the 
highest  importance.  All  I  beheld  reminded  me  of  what  I  had 
seen  at  Frankfort  on  the  day  of  the  coronation  ;  and  particu- 
larly of  the  well-furnished  but  half-deserted  tables  at  which  part 
of  the  gue-ts  considered  it  beneath  their  dignity  to  seat  them- 
selves. Parties  were  indeed  collected  together  at  Wetzlar  ; 
but  this  only  rendered  the  symptoms  of  discord  more  evident. 
The  discord  and  struggle  of  conflicting  interests  appeared  with- 
out disguise  ;  and  no  one  was  ignorant  that  the  secret  aim  of 
the  princes  was  to  take  advantage  of  this  opportunity,  in  order 
to  strip  the  supreme  chief  of  the  empire  of  some  prerogative  or 
other. 

What  impression  could  the  relation  of  all  these  scandalous 
proceedings  be  expected  to  make  on  a  youth  sincerely  zealous 
in  the  cause  of  virtue  ?  What  respect  was  he  likely  to  retain 
for  laws  and  judges  ?  Whatever  measures  the  Chamber  of  In- 
spection might  adopt,  how  could  the  results  be  interesting  to 
young  men  ardent  in  every  generous  sentiment  ?  Besides,  the 
formalities  of  these  proceedings  evidently  tended  to  deaden  all 
energy.  The  efforts  that  were  making  could  promote  nothing 
but  injustice,  by  saving  the  accused  ;  and,  in  this  trial  of  skill, 
the  victory  was  sure  to  belong  to  those  who  were  most  practised 
in  parrying  and  averting  the  attacks  of  their  adversaries. 

This  chaos  could  supply  no  materials  for  my  studies  of  the 
beautiful  :  I  again  plunged  into  meditations  which  brought  me 
back  to  that  pursuit.  All  endeavours  to  form  a  theory,  betray 
either  a  want  of  power  to  produce,  or  the  obstacles  that  impede 
the  flight  of  genius.  1  had  already  tried  with  Merk,  and  I  was 
now  endeavouring  with  Gotter,  to  find  out  rules  and  methods  of 
composition.  Sulzer's  theory  of  the  tine  arts  was  then  much 
talked  of  ;  but  it  was  said  to  be  better  calculated  for  amateurs 
than  for  artists.  His  followers  required,  above  all,  a  moral  end  ; 
and  this  was  a  subject  of  disagreement  between  authors  and 
readers,  artists  and  the  public.  For  even  if  a  good  work  should 
and  must  have  moral  results,  it  is  nevertheless  destructive  to  art 
and  its  productions  to  require  the  author  to  keep  this  object 
constantly  in  view  whilst  his  work  is  in  progress. 

Dd 


210 


AILMOiaS  OP  tloiîTbJÎ. 


1  hud  for  some  years  attentively  studied,  although  at  inter- 
vals, the  writings  of  the  ancients  on  these  important  subjects. 
1  had  meditated  on  what  had  been  said  by  Aristotle,  Cicero, 
Quintilian,  and  Longinus,  but  without  obtaining  the  light  I  was 
in  search  of;  for  all  these  masters  speak  according  to  their  ex- 
perience, and  from  models  which  they  had  themselves  observed. 
They  introduced  me  to  a  world  prodigiously  rich  in  works  of 
art.  They  pointed  out  the  merit  and  talents  of  excellent  poets, 
most  of  whom  are  only  known  to  us  by  name  :  but  they  thus 
elearly  proved  to  me  that  we  must  have  a  great  number  of  ob- 
jects before  our  eyes,  in  order  to  exercise  our  thoughts  upon 
them  ;  and  that  we  must  begin  by  composing,  even  though  we 
should  fail  in  our  conceptions,  in  order  to  learn  how  to  estimate 
our  own  faculties  and  those  of  others.  It  also  appeared  evident 
to  me,  especially  with  respect  to  the  most  celebrated  ancient 
orators,  that  they  had  been  formed  only  by  the  events  and  cir- 
cumstances of  life,  and  that  their  talents  could  not  be  separated 
from  their  personal  sentiments  and  character.  This  seemed 
less  positive  as  to  the  poets  ;  yet  even  with  them  it  was  the  ac- 
tivity of  life  which  had  brought  nature  into  contact  with  art. 
The  result,  therefore,  of  all  my  observations  and  reflections  was, 
a  resolution  to  adhere  to  my  original  plan,  to  examine  nature  at- 
tentively, both  in  myself  and  in  external  objects,  and  to  allow  it 
to  find  expression  in  free  and  animated  imitations. 

Urged  daily  and  nightly  by  this  desire,  I  incessantly  medita- 
ted on  two  subjects,  the  extent  and  richness  of  which  I  could 
never  sufficiently  explore,  although  stimulated  by  the  hope  of 
producing  some  original  and  remarkable  work.  These  were 
the  ancient  period  in  which  GoëtzVon  Berlischingen  had  flourish- 
ed, and  the  present  time,  the  picture  of  which,  resembling 
a  fading,  dying  flower,  is  found  in  Werther. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  historical  studies  by  which 
I  prepared  myself  for  the  first  of  these  compositions.  It  is 
now  time  to  notice  the  moral  causes  of  the  second. 

The  plan  I  had  adopted,  of  observing  nature  within  myself 
as  well  as  externally,  leaving  all  my  sensations  to  act  freely 
upon  me,  brought  me  into  that  singular  state  of  mind,  under 
the  influence  of  which  I  wrote  Werther.  1  endeavoured 
to  free  my  mind  from  all  external  influence,  to  regard 
all  that  existed  beyond  myself  with  benevolence  and  affec- 
tion, and  to  leave  all  beings,  commencing  with  man,  to  pro- 
duce their  effects  upon  me  according  to  their  respective,  natures, 
that  I  might  comprehend  them  as  thoroughly  as  possible.  This 
mode  of  feeling  gave  me,  if  1  may  so  express  it,  a  particular 
affinity  with  every  object  ;  attuned  me  to  harmony  with  all  na- 
ture j  and  rendered  my  soul  like  an  internal  echo,  in  which  every 
sound  was  reverberated.  The  eye  of  the  painter  was  com- 
bined in  me  with  the  sensibility  of  the  poet.  A  fine  and  richly 
cultivated  country,  fertilized  by  a  beneficent  stream,  incr 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


Jit 


n\y  love  of  solitude,  and  encouraged  my  tranquil  meditations, 
while  it  allowed  them  to  range  freely  and  unconfined. 

But  ever  since  I  had  been  separated  from  the  charming  family 
of  the  minister  of  Sesenheim,  and  from  my  friends  at  Frankfort 
and  Darmstadt,  a  painful  void  had  existed  in  my  soul.  I  was  in 
that  situation  which  opens  our  hearts  to  an  insinuating  tender- 
ness, that  suddenly  steals  upon  us,  masters  our  reason,  and  over- 
turns the  most  prudent  resolutions. 

Having  reached  this  period  of  my  life,  1  now  find  that  my  task 
is  become  easier,  and  that  I  can  proceed  with  increased  confi- 
dence. In  fact,  my  work  now  first  begins  to  tend  directly 
towards  the  aim  I  proposed  to  myself  in  writing  it.  I  have  not 
promised  a  complete  work  :  my  intention  was  rather  to  supply 
a  few  blanks  in  the  history  of  my  life,  to  rectify  some  errors,  and 
to  preserve  the  memory  of  some  almost  forgotten  attempts. 
Vainly,  indeed,  would  the  poet  invoke  an  almost  exhausted  fan- 
cy ;  in  vain  would  he  require  it  to  describe  in  lively  colours  that 
delightful  intercourse  which  once  rendered  the  valley  that  is 
watered  by  the  Lahn  his  favourite  retreat.  But  happily  a 
friendly  genius  long  since  undertook  this  office,  and  urged  him. 
in  the  vigour  of  youth,  to  examine  and  delineate  for  the  contem- 
plation of  the  world  the  objects  which  had  given  him  so  much 
pleasure.  This  genius  gave  him  courage  to  present  the  picture 
of  the  happiest  period  of  his  life.  It  is  surely  unnecessary  to 
add  that  I  am  here  alluding  to  Werther.  I  have  now  only  to 
give  some  explanations  relative  to  the  characters  I  have  intro- 
duced in  that  work,  and  the  sentiments  1  have  ascribed  to  them. 

Among  the  young  men  whom  the  deputation  of  inspectors 
allowed  to  prepare  themselves  for  official  situations,  by  acting 
under  their  orders,  there  was  one  on  whom,  among  ourselves,  we 
usually  bestowed  the  appellation  of  "the  Betrothed."  He  was 
remarkable  for  the  extraordinary  evenness  of  his  temper,  and 
the  clearness  of  his  ideas.  All  his  words  and  actions  indicated 
one  of  those  men  who  always  know  precisely  what  they  would 
have.  His  unembarrassed  industry  and  unremitting  application 
had  obtained  him  the  notice  of  his  superiors,  and  the  promise  of 
speedy  promotion  ;  and  this  reasonable  ground  of  hope  had  in- 
duced him  to  plight  his  faith  to  a  young  lady  whose  character 
afforded  him  the  fairest  hopes  of  a  happy  union.  After  his 
mother's  death,  this  lady  had  undertaken  the  management  of  the 
family,  and  had  consoled  his  father  by  the  zeal  and  intelligence 
she  had  displayed  in  her  care  of  his  numerous  infant  children — 
a  happy  omen  for  him  on  whom  her  hand  was  to  be  bestowed. 
He  might  fairly  expect  her  to  prove  a  good  wife  and  mother. 
Nor  was  it  necessary  to  be  so  particularly  interested,  in  order  to 
perceive  that  she  was  a  person  worthy  of  the  affections  of  a  man 
of  merit.  She  was  one  of  those  who  may  not,  perhapg,  excite 
violent  passions,  but  who  please  generally.  A  graceful  form,  e 
pleasing  countenance,  a  pure  heart,  a  sweet  temper,  a  cheerful 


»■ 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


activity  resulting  from  this  happy  disposition,  an  easy  and  exem- 
plary method  of  performing  the  daily  duties  requisite  in  the 
care  of  a  family — all  these  gifts  were  her  portion.  I  had  al- 
ways observed  such  qualities  with  peculiar  pleasure,  and  been 
fond  of  the  society  of  women  endowed  with  them.  If  1  could 
find  no  opportunity  of  being  useful  to  them,  I  at  least  shared  with 
them,  more  willingly  than  with  others  of  their  sex,  the  innocenf 
joys  of  youth,  which  every  moment  renews,  and  which  may  be 
procured  without  trouble  and  with  so  little  expense.  It  is  al- 
lowed that  women  indulge  in  dress  only  for  the  purpose  of  exci- 
ting envy  in  each  other  ;  and  that  in  this  rivalship,  which  fre- 
quently destroys  their  best  qualities,  they  are  indefatigable. 
Those,  accordingly,  appeared  to  me  the  most  amiable,  whose 
simple  and  modest  toilette  aims  only  at  decency,  and  satisfies 
the  lover — the  intended  husband — that  they  think  of  him  alone, 
and  that  they  can  pass  their  lives  happily  without  splendour  or 
luxury. 

Ladies  who  resemble  her  whose  portrait  1  have  sketched,  are 
not  the  slaves  of  their  occupations.  They  can  find  time  for 
company,  and  can  disengage  their  minds  sufficiently  to  enjoy  it. 
A  suitable  propriety  of  behaviour  costs  them  no  effort,  and  a  lit- 
tle reading  suffices  to  form  their  minds.  Such  was  this  amiable 
bride  elect.  Her  intended  husband,  with  the  confidence  natural 
to  men  of  an  honourable  character  introduced  to  her,  without 
hesitation,  all  whom  he  loved  or  esteemed.  Entirely  occupied 
in  business  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  he  was  glad  to 
see  his  mistress  amuse  herself  with  a  walk  or  a  little  excursion 
into  the  country,  with  her  friends  of  both  sexes,  after  having 
completed  her  daily  round  of  household  cares.  Lolotte,  for  this 
name  exactly  suits  her,  was,  in  every  respect,  unpretending. 
She  was  rather  inclined  by  her  disposition  to  a  general  benevo- 
lence than  any  determined  preference  ;  she  considered  herself, 
moreover,  as  consecrated  to  a  man  worthy  to  possess  her,  whose 
fate  might,  at  any  moment,  be  eternally  united  with  hers.  The 
air  that  surrounded  her  might  be  said  to  breathe  serenity.  It  is 
a  delightful  sight  to  behold  fathers  and  mothers  devoting  them- 
selves wholly  to  their  children  ;  but  it  is  something  still  more 
interesting  to  see  a  si>ter  display  a  maternal  affection  towards 
her  brothers  and  sisters.  The  former  sentiment  seems  to  be 
insp  red  by  nature  and  habit  ;  the  latter  has  more  the  appear- 
ance of  free  will  and  generous  sensibility, 

As  a  new  comer,  free  from  all  engagements,  I  felt  myself  in 
full  security  in  the  presence  of  a  young  lady  whose  hand  was  en- 
gaged. She  could  not  interpret  the  marks  of  the  most  perfect 
devotion  as  attempts  to  attach  her  to  me  ;  and  she  was  therefore 
free  to  accept  them  as  disinterested  proofs  of  affection  and 
esteem.  I  neither  wished  to  be,  nor  could  be  more  than  he: 
friend,  and  hence  I  was  the  more  easily  enthralled.  The  youth- 
ful couple  showed  a  sincere  friendship  for  me,  and  treated  me 


MEMOIRS  OP  GO&THL, 


21$ 


•wrth  perfect  confidence.  I,  who  had  hitherto  been  idle  and  ab* 
sent,  like  a  man  dissatisfied  with  his  condition,  now  found  all  I 
wanted  in  a  female  friend,  who,  although  her  thoughts  were 
constantly  fixed  on  the  future,  knew  how  to  abandon  herself  to 
the  present  moment.  She  took  pleasure  in  my  company  ;  and 
it  was  not  long  before  I  found  it  impossible  to  exist  out  of  hers. 
I  had  daily  opportunities  of  seeing  her  :  we  might  all  be  said  to 
live  together,  and  we  became  almost  inseparable,  at  home  and 
abroad.  As  soon  as  business  le  ;  t  the  lover  at  liberty,  he  flew  to 
the  presence  of  his  mistress.  Thus,  without  thinking  of  it,  we 
all  three  accustomed  ourselves  to  each  other,  and  always  found 
ourselves  together,  without  having  formed  any  plan  for  meeting, 
We  lived  together  in  this  manner  a  whole  summer,  like  the 
characters  of  a  true  German  Id)l,  the  foundation  of  which  was 
a  fertile  country,  while  a  pure,  li\oi},  and  sincere  attachment 
formed  its  poetry.  We  took  walks  amidst  rich  harvests, 
moistened  by  the  copious  dew  of  the  morning  ;  we  listened  to 
the  cheerful  song  of  the  lark,  and  the  quail's  shrill  cry.  If  the 
heat  became  oppressive,  or  a  storm  overtook  us,  we  never 
thought  of  separating  ;  and  the  charm  of  an  affection  equally 
constant  and  tender  easily  dispelled  any  little  domestic  anxieties. 
Thus  one  day  succeeded  another,  and  all  were  holydays  to  us. 
Our  whole  calendar  might  have  been  printed  in  red  letters. 
Whoever  remembers  the  expressions  of  the  happy  and  ill-fated 
lover  of  Julia  will  easily  understand  me.  "  Seated  at  the  feet 
of  my  beloved,  1  shall  peel  hemp,  and  desire  nothing  further? 
this  day,  to  morrow,  the  day  after — all  my  life." 

I  must  now  introduce  a  person  whose  name  will  hereafter 
appear  but  too  often  ;  1  mean  Jerusalem  the  son  of  the 
celebrated  theologian.  He  held  a  place  under  the  deputation. 
He  was  a  middle-sized  young  man,  but  elegant,  and  of  prepos- 
sessing appearance.  His  face  was  almost  a  perfect  oval  ;  his 
features  delicate  and  mild,  as  we  usually  see  them  in  a  handsome 
fair-haired  man  :  his  blue  eyes  were  rather  beautiful  than 
expressive.  His  dress  was  that  of  Lower  Germany,  and 
imitative  of  the  English  costume.  He  wore  a  blue  frock,  a 
yellow  leather  waistcoat,  and  boots  with  browm  tops.  We 
never  visited  each  other,  but  I  often  met  him  in  company.  His 
manners  were  reserved,  but  amiable.  He  took  an  interest  in 
the  productions  of  the  arts,  and  was  fond  of  drawings  or  sketches 
representing  the  calm  character  of  profound  solitude.  He 
praised  Gessner's  en^ravin^s,  and  recommended  the  study  of 
them.  He  seldom  joined  m  social  amusements,  and  was  fond 
of  living  to  himself  and  his  own  ideas.  Hi>  attachment  to  the 
wife  of  one  of  his  friends  was  talked  of  \  but  he  was  never  seen 
in  public  with  the  object  of  his  love  On  the  whole,  people 
knew  very  little  of  his  affairs,  except  that  he  devoted  much  time 
to  the  study  of  English  literature.    His  father  being  rich,  he  did 


MKMOÏRS  OP  GOETHE. 


not  take  a  very  active  part  in  business,  or  exert  himself  much  to 
obtain  an  appointment. 

Gessner's  engravings,  which  this  young  man  showed  us, 
increased  our  taste  for  rural  scenery  and  the  pleasure  it  afforded 
us.  A  poetical  production,  which  our  little  circle  hailed  with 
transport,  soon  occupied  all  our  attention  ;  this  was  "  Gold- 
smith's Deserted  Village.'9  This  poem  seemed  perfectly 
adapted  to  the  sentiments  which  then  actuated  us.  The 
pictures  it  presented  were  those  which  we  loved  to  contemplate, 
and  sought  with  avidity,  in  order  to  enjoy  them  with  all  the  zest 
of  youth.  Village  fetes,  wakes,  and  'airs  ;  the  grave  meeting  of 
the  elders  under  the  village  trees,  to  which  they  have  retreated 
in  order  to  leave  the  young  to  the  pleasures  of  the  dance  ;  the 
part  taken  by  persons  of  more  elevated  rank  in  these  village 
entertainments  ;  the  decency  maintained  in  the  midst  of  the 
general  hilarity  by  a  worthy  clergyman,  skilled  to  moderate 
mirth  when  approaching  to  boisterousness,  and  to  prevent  all 
that  might  produce  discord  ;  such  were  the  representations  the 
poet  laid  before  us,  not  as  the  objects  of  present  attention  and 
enjoyment,  but  as  past  pleasures,  the  loss  of  which  excited 
regret.  We  found  ourselves  once  more  in  our  beloved  Wake- 
field, amidst  its  well-known  circle.  But  those  interesting 
characters  had  now  lost  all  life  and  movement,  they  appeared 
only  like  shades  called  up  by  the  plaintive  tones  of  the  elegiac 
muse.  The  idea  of  this  poem  appears  singularly  happy  to  those 
who  can  enter  into  the  author's  intention,  and  who,  like  him, 
find  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  recalling  innocent  joys  long  since 
fled.  I  shared  all  Gotter's  enthusiasm  for  this  charming  pro- 
duction. We  both  undertook  to  translate  it,  but  he  succeeded 
better  than  1  did,  because  I  had  too  scrupulously  endeavoured 
to  transfuse  the  tender  and  affecting  character  of  the  original 
into  our  language.  I  had  effected  my  purpose  in  a  few  stanzas, 
but  had  failed  in  the  general  effect. 

If  it  be  true,  as  some  pretend,  that  to  desire  ardently  is  to  be 
happy,  even  when  the  most  genuine  passion  is  excited  by  an  un- 
attainable object,  every  thing  concurred  to  render  the  man  who 
is  depicted  in  this  work,  and  whose  erring  steps  we  are  now 
tracing,  the  happiest  of  mortals.  His  attachment  to  a  young 
lady  betrothed  to  another,  his  efforts  to  enrich  our  literature  with 
a  foreign  chef-d'œuvre,  his  eagerness  to  imitate  the  beauties  of 
nature,  not  only  with  his  pen  but  with  his  pencil,  all  these  de- 
sires, or  any  one  of  them,  might  surely  have  sufficed  to  make 
his  heart  palpitate,  and  to  excite  his  enthusiasm.  Let  us  now 
see  how  he  was  torn  from  these  agreeable  occupations,  and  what 
new  circumstances  exposed  him  to  fresh  troubles. 

George  Schlosser  had  undertaken,  with  Merk,  the  publication 
of  a  new  journal,  entitled  the  "  Literary  Gazette  of  Frankfort.'7 
They  had  engaged  the  assistance  of  Hopfner,  professor  of  law 
m  the  university  of  Giessen.  and  of  other  members  of  that  acr.- 


&TBK#IRS  OF  GOETHE. 


215 


demy  ;  of  the  rector  Wenck,  a  much  esteemed  professor  at 
Darmstadt  ;  and  of  several  other  co  operators,  each  distinguish- 
ed in  his  department  by  extensive  acquirements  ;  the  spirit  of 
the  time  left  each  of  them  at  liberty  to  follow  his  natural  im- 
pulse. The  first  two  years  of  this  journal,  which  afterwards 
passed  into  other  hands,  afford  sufficient  proofs  of  the  attain- 
ments, sagacity,  and  upright  intentions  of  the  editors.  My 
friends  well  knew  the  deficiency  wh.ch  prevented  my  seconding 
them,  nor  did  I  disguise  it  from  myself.  My  attainments  of 
every  kind  were  devoid  of  connexion  and  system.  I  was  well 
acquainted  with  only  certain  periods  of  history,  and  certain 
parts  of  the  sciences  and  of  literature.  1  was,  indeed,  master 
of  what  I  did  know,  and  capable  of  representing  with  energy 
and  vivacity  every  thing  belonging  to  it.  1  was  also  allowed  to 
possess  a  certain  tact  in  theory  and  practice,  by  means  of  which 
I  could  possess  myself  of  objects,  showing  them,  however,  such 
as  they  ought  to  have  been  rather  than  as  they  were  in  fact,  and 
presenting  them  according  to  my  own  notions,  without  knowing 
how  to  subject  them  to  philosophical  method  and  order.  1  also 
possessed  a  great  facility  of  conception,  and  a  candid  readiness 
to  attend  to  the  opinions  of  others,  when  not  too  directly  opposed 
to  my  own  sentiments  and  observations.  Such  were  the  quali- 
ties which  procured  my  admission  into  this  association  of  men 
of  distinguished  merit. 

An  active  correspondence,  and  the  frequent  conferences  which 
the  proximity  of  the  residences  of  the  different  members  of  the 
society  allowed,  promoted  the  success  of  the  enterprise.  The 
first  of  us  who  read  a  book  wrote  remarks  upon  it.  When 
more  than  one  of  us  sent  observations  on  any  work,  they  were 
compared  together,  and  as  soon  as  the  result  was  agreed  on,  one 
of  our  number  undertook  to  reduce  it  to  writing.  Thus  most 
of  our  extracts  were  thoroughly  studied,  and  as  entertaining  as 
useful.  I  often  held  the  pen  :  my  friends  allowed  me  to  criticize 
their  works,  and  to  treat  matters  1  had  a  particular  taste  for,  or 
took  great  interest  in,  as  I  thought  proper.  The  articles  thus 
published  during  these  two  years  enabled  me  to  represent  the 
spirit  of  that  period. 

In  this  daily  interchange  of  knowledge,  sentiments,  and  ideas, 
Ï  learned  to  know  and  appreciate  Hopfner  better  than  I  had 
done.  I  found  him  a  learned  and  enlightened  man  in  the  science 
he  professed,  which  I  was  likewise  destined  to  cultivate.  I  was 
not  yet  sufficiently  convinced  of  the  advantages  of  books  and 
conversation  over  the  instructions  of  professors,  to  derive  solid 
improvement  from  them.  Still  I  was  sensible  that  with  a  book 
I  could  dwell  upon  a  passage,  or  return  to  the  commencement 
of  a  subject,  which  was  not  practicable  with  the  discourses  of  a 
master.  If  an  idea  occurred  to  me,  while  listening  to  a  profes- 
sor, I  lost  the  thread  of  his  dissertation  ;  a  thing  which  had  often 
happened  to  me  in  my  course  of  law.    Hopfner,  however. 


t 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


had  the  kindness  to  enter  into  my  ideas,  to  discuss  my  doubts, 
and  complete  my  instruction.  Hence  I  conceived  a  wish  to 
visit  him  occasionally  at  Giessen,  for  the  sake  of  improvement, 
without  too  much  neglecting  the  matters  which  kept  me  at 
Wetzlar:  but  two  other  friends  opposed  this  wish,  at  first  unde- 
signedly, but  afterwards  from  a  preconcerted  plan.  They  were 
in  ha-te  to  quit  Wetzlar,  and  were  particularly  interested  in 
getting  me  to  leave  that  town  likewise. 

Schlosser  acknowledged  to  me  that  he  had  formed  an  intimacy 
with  my  sister,  which,  having  commenced  in  friendship,  had 
afterwards  been  cemented  by  a  more  lively  sentiment  ;  and  he 
was  only  waiting  for  an  appointment,  to  which  he  had  been 
promised  an  early  nomination,  in  order  to  unite  himself  with 
her.  Although  my  sister's  letters  might  have  led  me  to  expect 
this  communication,  1  was  much  surprised  at  it,  and  for  the  first 
time,  1  perceived  that  I  was  really  jealous  of  her  tenderness  ;  and 
I  found  it  the  more  difficult  to  conceal  this  sentiment  from  my- 
self, as  our  friendship  had  become  closer  than  ever  since  my 
return  from  Strasburg.  How  many  hours  had  we  passed  in 
mutually  confiding  to  each  other  the  secrets  of  our  hearts,  the 
mysteries  of  love,  or  of  other  kinds,  which  had  occupied  us 
while  separated  from  each  other  !  And  had  not  a  vast  field  ia 
the  ideal  world  been  opened  to  me,  which  I  wished  her  also  to 
range  in  ?  I  used  to  translate  to  her,  impromptu,  those  passages 
of  Homer  which  I  thought  she  would  find  most  interesting  ;  I 
began  by  reading  Clarke's  literal  translation  to  her  in  my  best 
German.  Afterwards  my  translation  naturally  assumed  the 
poetical  forms  ;  and  my  vivacity  in  seizing  the  images  of  the 
great  painter,  together  with  the  warmth  of  my  expressions,  freed 
my  translation  from  all  appearance  of  servility  and  constraint. 
Her  mind  readiiy  received  the  impressions  thus  communicated 
to  it  by  mine  ;  and  thus  the  hours  passed  away  in  this  pleasing 
occupation.  When  her  friends  were  assembled  about  her,  the 
wolf  Fenris,  or  the  ape  Hanneman  was  unanimously  called  for* 
How  often  was  I  required  to  repeat  the  marvellous  history  of 
Thor  and  his  Companions,  chauged  into  apes  by  the  enchant* 
ments  of  the  giants.  1  remember  these  poetical  inventions  with 
pleasure,  and  reckon  them  among  the  most  brilliant  productions 
of  my  imagination.  I  had  also  introduced  my  Darmstadt  friends 
to  Cornelia.  Thus  my  excursions  served  only  to  strengthen 
the  ties  of  friendship  between  us,  by  means  of  our  active  corres- 
pondence, and  the  interest  which  she  took  in  it .  but  my  present 
absence  from  Frankfort  had  in  some  degree  checked  the  vivacity 
of  this  intercourse.  My  residence  at  Wetzlar  did  not  supply 
the  same  materials  to  support  it,  and  my  tender  inclination  for 
Charlotte  had  made  me  neglect  Cornelia  :  in  a  word  she  felt 
herself  abandoned,  and  perhaps  thought  she  was  forgotten* 
The  constant  attentions  ot  a  man  of  honour,  whose  habitual 
gravity  and  reserve  rendered  his  passion  the  more  interesting, 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


217 


♦easily  found  access  to  her  heart.  I  took  my  measures  with  a 
good  grace,  and  congratulated  my  friend  on  his  happiness, 
although  my  vanity  whispered  that  the  brother's  absence  had 
promoted  the  friend's  success. 

Now  this  friend,  my  brother-in-law  elect,  was  materially  inte- 
rested in  getting  me  back  to  Frankfort;  he  relied  on  my  good 
offices  with  my  parents  and  Cornelia.  On  his  leaving  Wetzlar 
I  was  obliged  to  promise  that  I  would  speedily  follow  him. 

Merk  being  master  of  his  own  time,  I  had  expected  that  he 
would  make  a  long  stay  at  Giessen,  where  he  could  attend  to 
our  Literary  Gazette,  and  that  I  might  thus  continue  to  profit 
by  the  lessons  of  the  worthy  Hopfner.  But  as  love  had  removed 
Schlosser,  Merk's  antipathy  to  the  university  rendered  Giessen 
a  very  disagreeable  residence  to  him.  He  detested  the  gross 
rudeness  of  the  students.  Having  passed  his  youth  in  French 
Switzerland,  and  since  that  period  been  accustomed  to  elegant 
and  polished  society,  he  could  not  endure  roughness  and  ill- 
breeding.    He  speedily  brought  me  back  to  Wetzlar. 

I  presented  him  to  Charlotte  ;  but  his  presence  in  our  little 
society  was  not  beneficial  to  us  :  like  Mephistopheles  he  carried 
sorrow  wherever  he  was  introduced.  His  •  indifference  to  this 
amiable  girl  did  not  alter  my  regard  for  him,  but  nevertheless  it 
gave  me  some  pain.  I  ought  to  have  recollected  that  women 
attractive  by  their  virtues  and  graces,  but  modest  and  unpretend- 
ing, were  not  to  his  taste.  He  looked  upon  my  inclination  for 
Charlotte  merely  as  time  lost. 

There  is  always  a  disadvantage  attending  the  introduction  of 
a  friend  to  the  object  of  our  attachment.:  if  he  become 
enamoured  of  her,  we  have  created  a  rival  ;  if  she  do  not  hap- 
pen to  please  him  we  are  liable  to  hear  her  depreciated.  My 
esteem  and  affection  for  Charlotte  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
Merk's  malicious  observations.  Nevertheless  his  disagreeable 
presence  among  us,  and  his  ill-natured  and  ironical  conversation, 
hastened  my  departure.  I  had  long  wished  to  travel  along  the 
Rhine  ;  he  was  preparing  for  this  tour,  and  pressed  me  to 
accompany  him.  I  therefore  parted  from  Charlotte  with  a  con- 
science more  void  of  offence  than  when  1  had  left  Frederica, 
but  not  without  much  grief.  The  force  of  an  agreeable  habit, 
and  the  indulgent  kindness  I  met  with,  had  infused  too  much 
passion  into  my  friendship.  As  to  Charlotte  and  her  intended, 
they  had  confined  their  attachment  to  me  Within  the  bounds  of 
a  reasonable  affection.  The  amenity  of  this  connexion,  still 
perfectly  accordant  with  decency  and  reason,  was  precisely 
what  had  rendered  me  blind  to  my  danger,  by  inspiring  me  with 
a  deceitful  confidence  of  security.  But  I  could  no  longer  avoid 
perceiving  that  my  romance  was  drawing  to  its  close  ;  for  the 
young  man  was  soon  to  receive  his  appointment.  There  was 
now  nothing  to  prevent  his  union  with  his  lovely  betrothed  mis- 
tress.   As  long  as  we  retain  any  command  over  ourselves,  we 


21t>  MEMOIRS  Oi'  GOA/IKL- 

can  always  make  a  virtue  of  necessity.  I  therefore  resolved  to 
withdraw,  before  this  marriage,  which  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  witnessing,  should  compel  me  to  leave  the  place. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

We  had  agreed  with  Merk  to  meet  together  in  the  spring 
at  the  residence  of  Madame  La  Roche,  at  Coblentz.  I  had 
sent  my  baggage  to  Frankfort  ;  and  such  articles  as  I  might 
stand  in  need  of  on  my  journey  were  embarked  on  the 
Lahn.  I  passed  along  the  banks  of  that  fine  river,  so  rich  in 
agreeable  and  varied  prospects.  The  resolution  I  had  first 
formed  ensured  to  me  perfect  liberty  of  mind  :  my  heart,  though 
in  truth  less  free,  was,  however,  filled  with  pleasing  sensations. 
In  short,  I  was  just  in  that  state  of  feeling  which  enables  one  to 
derive  ineffable  delight  from  the  animated  scenery  of  nature. 
My  eye,  accustomed  to  observe  the  picturesque  beauties  of  the 
country,  eagerly  dwelt  on  every  object  that  appeared  before  me. 
I  by  turns  admired  the  wood-covered  rocks,  the  summits  of  the 
hills  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  castles  crowning  the 
heights,  and  the  horizon  vaguely  bounded  by  the  distant  blue 
mountains. 

I  pursued  my  course  along  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  which 
flowed  at  a  considerable  depth  beneath  me,  sometimes  partly 
concealed  by  thick  clusters  of  willow-trees,  and  then  again 
appearing  with  the  brilliant  light  of  day  reflected  from  its  sur- 
face. I  happened  to  have  my  knife  in  my  hand,  for  what  rea- 
son I  have  now  forgotten  ;  but  I  well  recollect  that  I  suddenly 
conceived  the  idea  of  throwing  it  into  the  river,  and  of  drawing 
from  this  whimsical  act  a  presage  for  the  success  of  my  wishes 
in  the  career  of  the  fine  arts.  If,  thought  I  to  myself,  I  see  the 
knife  sink  in  the  water,  my  wishes  will  be  accomplished  ;  but 
if  the  spot  where  it  falls  be  concealed  from  me  by  the  over- 
shadowing trees,  it  shall  be  to  me  the  signal  for  renouncing  my 
designs.  The  action  immediately  followed  the  thought.  I  threw 
my  knife  into  the  river,  and  I  immediately  observed  an  instance 
of  that  deceptive  double-meaning  of  oracles,  of  which  the  an- 
cients so  bitterly  complained.  The  lower  branches  of  the  trees 
concealed  the  knife  from  me  at  the  moment  of  its  sinking  ;  but 
1  distinctly  saw  the  agitated  water  spring  up  like  a  fountain.  I 
could  not  interpret  this  circumstance  exactly  in  my  favour  ;  yet 
I  nevertheless  resigned  myself  to  my  inspirations,  and  perhaps 
my  frequent  alternate  fits  of  languor  and  zeal  have  verified  the 
real  meaning  of  the  oracle. 

This  pleasant  journey  brought  me  in  a  few  days  to  Ems,  where 
t  embarked  on  the  Lahn.    I  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  Rhine^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


219 


on  the  bank  of  which  majestically  rose  the  castle  of  Ehren- 
brietstein.  At  the  foot  of  the  fortress  I  beheld  the  beautiful 
valley  called  the  Thai,  which  forms  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the 
aspect  of  the  fort.  Here  was  situated  the  charming  residence 
of  the  privy  counsellor  La  Roche.  My  intended  visit  had  been 
announced  by  Merk.  I  experienced  the  kindest  reception,  and 
was  soon  treated  like  a  member  of  the  family.  My  sentimental 
turn  of  mind,  and  my  devotedness  to  the  fair  sex,  were  my 
passport  to  Madame  La  Roche  ;  while  my  gayety,  and  a  certain 
knowledge  of  the  world  established  me  in  the  good  graces  of 
her  husband.  As  to  the  young  ladies,  my  youth  was  recom- 
mendation to  them. 

The  house  was  situated  at  the  extremity  of  the  Thai,  a  little 
above  the  river,  of  which  it  commanded  an  uninterrupted  view. 
The  apartments,  which  were  spacious  and  lofty,  were  closely 
hung  with  paintings  ;  and,  moreover,  each  window  formed  the 
frame  of  a  picture  traced  by  the  hand  of  nature,  and  brilliantly 
coloured  by  sunshine.  Never  did  I  behold  such  smiling  morn- 
ings, and  glorious  evenings  as  those  which  I  here  enjo}Ted. 

I  was  not  long  the  only  guest  in  this  charming  family. 
Leuchsenring  soon  arrived  from  Dusseldorf,  to  join  the  half  li- 
terary, half  sentimental  congress,  of  which  Madame  La  Roche 
was  the  president.  He  was  familiar  with  modern  literature, 
possessed  an  agreeable  temper  and  insinuating  manners  ;  and 
the  reputation  he  had  acquired  by  his  travels,  and  particularly 
by  his  long  residence  in  Switzerland,  had  gained  him  many 
friends.  He  brought  with  him  some  portfolios  filled  with  con- 
fidential correspondence.  At  that  time  the  most  perfect  since- 
rity prevailed  in  this  kind  of  epistolary  intercourse  :  the  writer 
at  once  unfolded  his  own  heart  and  that  of  others.  The  indif- 
ference of  governments,  and  the  consequent  security  of  letters 
■ — the  rapidity  of  communication,  and  the  cheapness  of  postage 
— were  so  many  incitements  to  this  interchange  of  knowledge 
and  sentiment. 

This  kind  of  correspondence,  and  particularly  the  letters  of 
celebrated  individuals,  used  to  be  carefully  collected  ;  and  it  was 
customary  to  read  extracts  from  them  in  friendly  parties.  This 
initiation  into  all  that  was  interesting  in  the  moral  world,  filled 
up  the  void  which  the  abandonment  of  political  discussion  had 
left  in  conversation. 

Leuchsenring's  portfolios  were  rich  in  treasures  of  this  sort. 
They  contained  some  letters  of  Julia  Bondeli,  who  was  cele- 
brated for  her  excellent  understanding  and  character,  and  for 
being  the  friend  of  Rousseau.  Whoever  had  any  connexion 
with  that  extraordinary  man,  participated  in  the  glory  which 
emanated  from  him  ;  and  his  name  was  every  where  a  bond  of 
union  to  a  flock  of  faithful  followers. 

I  was  one  of  the  most  eager  listeners  whenever  this  corres- 
pondence was  read  :  it  revealed  the  mysteries  of  a  world  hitherto 


HQ 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOÈTHE. 


unknown  to  me,  and  explained  many  recent  events  which  I  had 
witnessed,  without  understanding  the  causes  that  produced  them. 
All  the  letters  in  this  collection  did  not,  it  is  true,  present  an 
equal  degree  of  interest  ;  and  M.  La  Roche,  who  was  a  man 
of  a  humorous  turn,  compared  these  literary  fraternities  to  those 
of  the  monks,  at  whose  expense,  though  a  very  good  catholic, 
he  was  frequently  known  to  jest  in  his  writings.  He  conceived 
that  the  principal  motive  of  these  unions  was  the  interest  felt  by 
men  of  little  importance  to  fasten  themselves,  as  it  were,  to  great 
names:  a  connexion  which  turns  wholly  to  their  advantage. 
M.  La  Roche,  therefore,  usually  withdrew  as  soon  as  one  of 
Leuchsenring's  portfolios  was  opened  :  or  if  he  staid  to  hear  a 
letter  read,  he  failed  not  to  render  it  the  subject  of  satirical  re- 
mark. On  one  occasion  he  observed,  that  correspondence  of 
this  kind,  which  was  evidently  intended  for  the  public  rather 
than  for  the  individuals  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  confirmed 
him  in  the  idea  that  ladies,  in  particular,  might  spare  the  expense 
of  wax,  and  merely  fasten  their  letters  with  pins.  All  that  de- 
parted from  the  sphere  of  action  was  to  him  the  subject  of  si- 
milar pleasantry  :  in  this  respect  he  remained  faithful  to  the 
spirit  of  his  master,  Count  Stadion,  minister  of  the  Elector  of 
Mentz,  a  man  certainly  very  ill  calculated  to  inspire  his  protege 
with  any  sentiment  that  might  counterbalance  the  influence  of 
the  world,  and  that  of  a  cold  and  calculating  disposition. 

A  single  anecdote  will  suffice  to  develope  the  character  of 
the  Count.  M.  La  Roche  having  lost  his  parents  in  his  child- 
hood, the  minister  became  interested  for  the  young  orphan,  and 
chose  him  as  a  disciple.  He  at  the  same  time  employed  him  as 
his  secretary  ;  and  in  this  capacity  intrusted  him  to  prepare 
despatches,  which  he  had  sometimes  to  copy,  and  sometimes  to 
write  in  ciphers.  The  letters  were  afterward  sealed  up,  and 
addressed  to  the  persons  for  whom  they  were  intended.  The 
young  man  having  in  the  course  of  time  acquired  the  requisite 
experience  for  the  business  for  which  he  was  destined,  the  Count 
one  day  led  him  to  a  great  desk,  where  he  beheld  all  the  corres- 
pondence, the  labour  of  his  probationary  years,  carefully  pre- 
served, and  without  ever  having  been  opened. 

The  Count  also  assigned  another  kind  of  occupation  to  his 
disciple,  which  will  not  be  so  generally  approved.  Wishing 
frequently  to  spare  himself  the  trouble  of  autographical  corres- 
pondence, M.  de  Stadion  directed  young  La  Roche  to  practise 
the  imitation  of  his  handwriting.  But  this  talent  was  not  em- 
ployed merely  in  business  :  the  Count  also  intrusted  to  his 
secretary  the  management  of  his  amatory  correspondence.  M. 
de  Stadion  was  passionately  attached  to  a  lady  equally  distin- 
guished for  rank  and  talent.  During  his  visits  to  her,  which 
were  always  prolonged  until  late  in  the  night,  the  young  secre- 
tary, seated  at  his  desk,  exercised  his  ingenuity  in  composing 
the  most  passionate  letters.    The  Count,  before  he  retired  to 


SEMOIRS  or  GOKTHE 


rest,  used  to  select  one  of  these  epistles,  and  despatch  it  to  his 
mistress,  who  thus  believed  herself  to  be  the  object  of  an  unex- 
tinguishable  flame.  This  sort  of  experience  was,  of  course, 
not  calculated  to  inspire  the  young  secretary  with  a  very  exalted 
notion  of  love-letters. 

Though  M.  La  Roche  had  successively  been  in  the  service  of 
two  ecclesiastical  electors,  yet  he  had  conceived  an  irreconcilable 
hatred  of  the  Court  of  Rome.  Having  been  a  witness  to  the 
ignorance  and  rudeness  of  the  German  monks,  and  the  obstacles 
which  they  opposed  to  every  kind  of  civilization,  he  had  early 
taken  a  dislike  to  them  ;  and  this  antipathy  had  been  strength- 
ened by  time.  His  letters  on  monachism  excited  considerable 
notice  :  they  were  very  favourably  received  by  the  protestants, 
and  also  by  many  catholics. 

Though  our  good  host  affected  a  decided  aversion  to  every 
thing  which  may  be  termed  sentiment,  all  appearance  of  which 
he  himself  carefully  avoided,  yet  he  found  it  impossible  to  dis- 
guise his  truly  paternal  affection  for  his  eldest  daughter.  A 
small  but  elegant  figure,  black  eyes,  and  a  complexion  of  unri- 
valled brilliancy,  combined  with  easy  and  graceful  manners, 
rendered  her  exceedingly  attractive.  She,  in  her  turn,  tenderly 
loved  her  father,  and  yielded  implicit  obedience  to  his  will.  As 
to  M.  La  Roche,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  business,  and  knowing 
that  his  wife's  society  was  the  chief  attraction  to  his  visiters,  he 
took  but  little  share  in  the  amusements  of  the  company  who 
frequented  his  house.  When  at  table,  however,  his  conversation 
was  lively  and  animated  ;  and  he  then,  at  least,  endeavoured  to 
dispel  that  sentimental  air,  with  which,  on  the  contrary,  his  wife 
sought  to  envelope  all  around  her. 

A  long  life,  distinguished  by  numerous  literary  productions, 
has  rendered  Madame  La  Roche  an  object  of  respect  to  every 
German.  I  know  not  with  whom  to  compare  this  truly  singular 
woman.  In  person  she  was  tall,  slender,  and  delicate  ;  and  she 
preserved,  until  an  advanced  period  of  life,  a  certain  elegance 
of  deportment,  which  formed  an  agreeable  medium  between  the 
stately  air  of  a  lady  of  high  rank,  and  the  unassuming  dignity 
of  a  citizen's  wife.  Her  style  of  dress  had  long  continued  un- 
changed. The  little  cap  with  winged  lappets,  which  formed 
her  simple  head-dress,  became  her  admirably  ;  and  a  gown  of 
gray  or  brown  corresponded  well  with  the  gravity  of  her  cha- 
racter. She  spoke  with  elegance,  and  always  interested  her 
hearers  by  a  faithful  and  correct  expression  of  the  sentiments 
she  experienced.  She  behaved  to  every  body  alike;  and  it 
seemed  impossible  that  any  thing  could  ruffle  her  habitual  even- 
ness of  temper,  or  produce  on  her  a  painful  impression.  With 
the  same  equanimity  she  rendered  to  her  husband  jest  for  jest, 
to  her  friends  kindness  for  kindness,  and  to  her  children  love  for 
love.  The  good  or  the  evil  in  this  world,  the  perfection  or  the 
defects  of  literary  works,  had  no  sensible  influence  on  her  tern- 


tu 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE* 


per.  To  this  placid  turn  of  mind  she  was  indebted  for  the 
tirmness  with  which  she  endured,  even  at  an  advanced  period 
of  life,  misfortunes  and  reverses  of  too  frequent  recurrence. 
To  do  her  justice,  however,  I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  her 
two  sons,  who  in  their  childhood  were  remarkably  handsome, 
occasionally  drew  from  her  expressions  of  maternal  tenderness 
that  differed  from  her  usual  calm  course. 

I  passed  my  time  very  agreeably  at  the  house  of  Madame 
La  Roche,  during  the  interval  I  spent  there  before  the  arrival  of 
Merk  and  his  family.  The  eldest  Mademoiselle  La  Roche 
pleased  me  exceedingly.  Nothing  is  more  delightful  than  to 
feel  a  new  passion  rising,  when  the  flame  that  burned  before  is 
not  yet  quite  extinguished  Thus,  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  we 
behold  with  pleasure  the  orb  of  night  ascending  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  horizon:  we  then  enjoy  the  doable  brilliancy  of  the 
two  celestial  luminaries. 

We  had  abundance  of  amusement  both  within  and  without 
doors.  We  explored  the  whole  of  the  surrounding  country. 
On  this  side  of  the  river  we  ascended  to  the  fortress  of  Ehren- 
breitstein,  and  to  the  Chartreuse  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Rhine.  The  city  of  Coblentz,  the  bridge  across  the  Moselle, 
and  parties  on  the  water,  afforded  us  sources  of  interest  and 
entertainment. 

Howrever,  the  pleasures  we  enjoyed  had  not  the  effect  of  sof- 
tening the  captious  temper  of  Merk.  Whenever  he  happened , 
to  hear  one  of  those  letters  which  afforded  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany so  much  gratification,  he  was  sure  to  give  vent  to  some 
satirical  remarks  on  the  contents  of  the  epistles,  the  writers, 
nnd  their  correspondents.  He  explained  to  me  the  trick  of 
those  men,  who*,  with  no  other  recommendation  than  address 
and  ordinary  capacity,  endeavour  to  produce  an  impression  by 
means  of  their  numerous  connexions,  and  thus  succeed  in  ac- 
quiring a  degree  of  importance  in  the  world.  I  have  often  since 
met  with  these  literary  parasites, — men  who  are  continually 
changing  place,  and  introducing  themselves  every  where,  who 
would  pass  unnoticed  but  for  the  attraction  of  novelty,  and  who 
avail  themselves  of  a  traveller's  privileges,  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance of  all  domesticated  men. 

We  undertook  the  task  of  unmasking  this  class  of  adven- 
turers, wiio  cast  anchor  in  every  town,  and  in  a  few  families,  at 
least,  obtain  a  certain  degree  of  influence.  I  ridiculed  the  ser- 
vility^of  one  of  these  worthies  in  a  little  piece,  to  which  I  gave 
the  name  of  Father  Brey.  The  self-sufficiency  and  coarseness 
of  another,  furnished  me  with  materials  for  a  kind  of  farce,  en- 
titled The  Satyr;  or  the  Ape  Deified.  If  these  little  productions 
were  not  altogether  just,  they  were,  at  least,  dictated  by  good- 
humour. 

Upon  the  wrhole,  the  elements  of  which  our  little  circle  was 
romposed,  amalgamated  exceedingly  well.    We  were  united  by 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


"by  conformity  of  manners  and  tastes  ;  and  we,  moreover,  found 
in  Madame  La  Roche  a  gentle  conciliatress.  She  felt,  indeed, 
but  little  interest  in  what  was  passing  around  her,  for  her  mind 
was  wholly  occupied  by  her  own  ideal  world  ;  yet,  from  this 
sphere  of  imagination,  she  knew  how  to  withdraw  herself  for 
the  exercise  of  friendly  and  benevolent  feeling  ;  and  she  pos- 
sessed the  art  of  calming  ili-humour,  and  soothing  the  difficul- 
ties arising  from  diversity  of  character. 

Merk  having  announced  the  period  of  his  departure,  the  party 
broke  up  on  the  best  terms  with  each  other.  1  sailed  down  the 
Rhine  with  Merk  and  his  family.  We  enjoyed  a  high  treat  in 
contemplating  the  infinite  variety  of  objects  that  presented 
themselves  to  our  notice,  and  the  constant  succession  of  pros- 
pects, which  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in  sublimity  and 
beauty,  and  w  hich  were  rendered  the  more  attractive  by  delight- 
ful weather.  May  the  names  Rheinfels,  Saint-Gour,  Bacharach, 
Bingen,  Elfeld,  and  Biberich,  revive  in  the  mind  of  the  reader 
recollections  as  agreeable  as  those  which  now  recur  to  me  ! 

We  industriously  sketched  the  various  prospects  that  arose  on 
the  majestic  and  picturesque  banks  of  the  Rhine,  by  which 
means  they  were  the  more  forcibly  impressed  on  our  memories. 
The  unreserved  confidence  which  we  reposed  in  each  other 
during  this  long  journey,  riveted  more  strongly  the  link  by  which 
Merk  and  1  were  united.  His  ascendency  over  me  was  in- 
creased, and  I  had  become  to  him  an  agreeable  companion,  with 
whose  society  he  found  it  difficult  to  dispense  By  improving 
the  correctness  of  my  eye,  the  contemplation  of  nature  led  me 
to  that  of  objects  of  art;  and  the  fine  collection  of  pictures  and 
engravings  at  Frankfort  soon  afforded  me  the  opportunity  of  de- 
voting myself  to  this  agreeable  occupation.  The  pleasure  I  felt 
in  looking  for  nature  in  works  of  art  had  now  increased  to  a  pas- 
sion, which,  in  its  moments  of  excess,  must  have  appeared  like 
a  mania,  even  to  those  who  were  enthusiastically  devoted  to  the 
tine  arts.  The  surest  mode  of  cherishing  this  passion  was  to 
study  with  thcassiduity  the  masterpieces  of  the  Flemish  school. 
To  afford  me  the  opportunity  of  gratifying  my  taste  in  this  way, 
Nothnagel,  who  had  already  assisted  me  in  gaining  access  to  the 
picture-galleries,  prepared  for  me  an  apartment  furnished  with 
every  thing  required  in  oil-painting.  Here  1  painted  several 
simple  subjects  from  nature  ;  and  my  master  was  so  surprised  at 
the  correctness  of  my  imitations,  that  he  would  scarcely  believe 
I  had  not  been  assisted  by  one  of  his  more  advanced  pupils. 

If  I  had  had  patience  to  continue  these  studies,  to  learn  the 
just  distribution  of  light  and  shade,  and  the  rules  of  perspec- 
tive, I  might  have  acquired  a  ceriain  degree  of  practical  skill, 
and  have  smoothed  my  way  to  a  higher  object.  But,  like  all 
amateurs,  I  was  possessed  with  the  mania  of  beginning  with 
what  is  difficult,  and  even  attempting  impossibilities.  I  often 
entered  upon  a  task  which  exceeded  the  limits  of  my  technical 


MEMOIRS  OV  GOETHE* 


knowledge  ;  but  the  consequence  was  that  Ï  lost  myself,  and 
was  obliged  to  renounce  the  attempt.  I  did  not  possess  that 
unremitting  attention  and  ardent  application  which  ensure  suc- 
cess even  to  a  beginner.  Thus  1  left  many  sketches  unfi- 
nished. 

At  the  same  time  a  passion  for  another  branch  of  the  fine  arts 
elevated  me  to  a  higher  sphere.  Some  beautiful  plaster  casts  of 
antique  heads  were  brought  by  Italians  to  the  fair  of  Frankfort. 
I  formed  a  little  museum,  which  !  decorated  with  the  figures  of 
the  Laocoon  and  his  sons,  and  daughters  of  Niobe.  I  procured 
small  models  of  other  masterp  ieces  of  art;  and,  by  attentively 
studying  them,  I  sought  to  revive  in  my  mind  the  profound  im- 
pressions which  I  had  received  in  contemplating  the  Manheim 
gallery. 

These  endeavours  to  cherish  and  cultivate  my  talent,  or  at 
least  my  taste  for  the  arts,  thus  absorbed  a  portion  of  my  time  ; 
but  my  principal  occupation  was  to  prepare  myself  to  exercise 
the  functions  of  an  advocate.  In  this  I  was  fulfilling  the  inten- 
tions of  my  father,  and  1  was  besides  stimulated  by  other  cir- 
cumstances. After  the  death  of  my  grandfather,  my  uncle 
Textorhad  been  appointed  a  senator;  and  he  consigned  to  me 
and-my  two  friends  Schlosser  all  that  portion  of  his  business 
which  we  were  capable  of  undertaking.  I  attentively  studied 
law  documents  ;  and  my  father  so  zealously  seconded  me  in  this 
pursuit,  that,  in  order  to  render  me  all  the  assistance  in  his 
power,  he  again  entered  into  business,  which  he  had  long  since 
resigned.  I  made  my  abstracts  with  great  facility.  We  were 
assisted  by  an  excellent  copyist,  who  not  only  made  fair  tran- 
scripts of  the  law  papers,  but  also  filled  up  the  necessary  for- 
malities. This  occupation  was  the  more  gratifying  to  me,  as  it 
placed  me  on  the  best  understanding  with  my  father.  Pleased 
with  the  zeal  which  I  evinced  in  prosecuting  my  legal  studies,  he 
favoured  my  other  pursuits,  and  indulged  my  tastes,  eagerly 
looking  forward  to  the  moment  when  I  might  enjoy  the  literary 
celebrity  which  he  believed  I  was  destined  to  attain. 

The  prevailing  spirit  of  any  particular  age  extends  its  influ- 
ence over  every  thing.  The  opinions  and  sentiments  which 
were  universally  cherished  at  the  period  to  which  I  am  now 
alluding,  were  manifested  in  a  thousand  different  ways  :  thus 
the  maxims  that  were  adopted  in  religion  and  morality  were,  by 
degrees,  applied  in  civil  and  criminal  law.  The  love  of 
humanity,  which  was  the  ruling  passion  among  the  young  advo- 
cates, soon  gained  an  ascendency  even  in  the  minds  of  the  more 
venerable  judges  ;  and  he  who  proved  himself  to  be  the  most 
humane,  obtained  the  proudest  claim  to  distinction  injudicial 
affairs.  The  state  of  prisons  was  meliorated,  crimes  were 
indulgently  judged,  punishments  mitigated;  and  greater  facility 
was  afforded  for  legitimating  children,  contracting  unequal 
marriages,  and  procuring  divorces.    One  of  our  most  célébra- 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


^25 


led  advocates  acquired  a  great  reputation  by  introducing  the 
son  of  the  common  hangman  into  the  college  of  physicians.  In 
vain  did  guilds  and  corporations  endeavour  to  fight  against  the 
stream  ;  barriers  were  overthrown  one  after  another.  Religious 
toleration  was  not  only  preached  but  practised.  The  old  con- 
stitution of  my  native  city  was  even  threatened  with  innovation  ; 
and  talent  and  eloquence  were  exerted  to  recommend  tolera- 
tion towards  the  Jews.  These  new  judicial  questions,  which 
were  without  the  pale  of  established  laws  and  customs,  and 
which  were  to  be  decided  by  conscience  and  equity,  required 
in  their  discussion  a  natural  and  energetic  style.  Young  advo- 
cates thus  found  a  fine  field  open  for  the  exercise  of  their  talent  : 
we  entered  upon  it  with  enthusiasm,  and  the  French  plaidoyers 
served  as  our  guides  and  models.  I  recollect  with  pleasure, 
that  an  agent  of  the  Aulic  Council  once  sent  me  a  letter,  com- 
plimenting me  in  the  handsomest  terms  on  the  manner  in  which 
I  had  managed  a  cause  in  which  I  was  engaged. 

But  this  kind  of  practice  was  more  favourable  to  the  attain- 
ment of  oratorical  talent  than  of  legal  knowledge,  as  my  sensi- 
ble friend  George  Schlosser  one  day  hinted  to  me  in  a  tone  of 
reproach.  I  mentioned  to  him  the  satisfaction  expressed  by  one 
of  my  clients,  to  whom  I  had  just  read  a  pleading  composed  in 
a  very  energetic  style.  "  You  have  laboured  more  like  an 
author  than  an  advocate,"  said  he  ;  "your  object  should  be  not 
to  please  your  client,  but  to  win  the  decision  of  the  judge." 

The  man  who  is  most  occupied  in  business  throughout  the 
day,  finds  time  to  go  to  the  play  in  the  evening.  But  we  had 
no  good  theatre,  and  I  sought  to  console  myself  for  the  want  of 
this  kind  of  amusement  by  considering  of  the  means  of  improving 
the  German  drama.  The  state  of  our  dramatic  literature  during 
the  second  half  of  the  last  century  is  well  known,  and  I  shall 
therefore  confine  myself  to  a  few  general  observations. 

In  Germany  the  success  of  the  theatre  depended  on  the  talent 
of  the  actors,  rather  than  on  the  merit  of  the  pieces  they  repre- 
sented. This  remark  refers  particularly  to  dramas  of  circum- 
stance, which  must  of  necessity  exhibit  pictures  of  common 
life  and  natural  manners  ;  for  it  is  the  facility  of  an  immediate 
application  that  constitutes  the  amusement  of  the  spectator 
and  the  success  of  the  piece.  This  species  of  comedy,  still 
maintains  its  ground  in  the  south  of  Germany,  with  no  alterna- 
tion save  the  occasional  change  of  the  comic  masks,  to  suit  the 
convenience  of  the  actors  who  succeed  each  other  in  any  parti- 
cular part.  But  the  German  drama  having  risen  to  a  level  with 
the  gravity  of  the  national  character,  speedily  took  a  direction 
towards  the  moral  object  of  dramatic  works.  The  cause  of 
this  improvement  was  totally  independent  of  the  cultivation  of 
dramatic  art.  Rigid  Christians  began  seriously  to  inquire 
whether  theatrical  amusements  were  really  reprehensible,  or, 
at  least,  proper  to  be  avoided  ;  or  whether  thev  might  be  ranked 

Ff 

/ 


320 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE, 


among  those  recreations,  which,  being  indifferent  in  themselves 
are  good  for  the  good,  and  bad  only  lor  the  bad.    The  greatest 
zealots  denied  this  last   proposition,  and  maintained  that,  at 
all  events,  no  ecclesiastic  ought  ever  to  enter  a  theatre.  The 
contrary  opinion  could  not  be  defended  with  any  hope  of  suc- 
cess, except  by  proving  that  dramatic  entertainment  was  not 
only  innocent,  but  even  useful.    To  obtain  this  object  it  was 
necessary  to  pay  a  due  regard  to  moral  principle.    Jt  was  the 
more  easy  to  strike  into  this  course  in  the  north  of  Germany, 
for,  in  spite  of  the  endeavours  of  many  men  of  talent,  a  tnste,  ] 
perhaps  inimical  to  the  true  spirit  of  comedy,  had  banished  i 
buffoons  from  the  stage.    The  rude  German  clown  had  already 
given  place  to  the  more  refined  Italian  and  French  harlequin. 
Scapin  and  Crispin  gradually  disappeared.    I  myself  saw  Koch 
in  his  old  age  play  the  part  of  Crispin  for  the  last  time. 

Richardson's  novels  had  inspired  a  taste  for  delicate  moral 
sentiment.  The  sad  and  inevitable  consequences  of  one  false 
step,  hazarded  by  a  woman,  formed  the  subject  of  a  moving  pic- 
ture in  Clarissa.  Lessing  had  the  same  object  in  view  in  Miss 
Sarah  Sampson.  The  London  Merchant  exhibited  a  young  man 
led  on,  step  by  step,  to  the  commission  of  the  most  horrible 
crime.  The  French  dramas,  conceived  in  the  same  design, 
generally  presented  situations  less  painful,  and  gratified  the  feel- 
ings by  a  happy  termination.  Diderot's  Pire  de  Famille,  Vhon- 
nête  Criminel,  la  Brouette  du  Vinaigrier,  le  Philosophe  sans  h 
Savoir,  Eugenie,  and  some  other  pieces  of  the  same  class,  faith- 
fully painted  those  honourable  affections  which  attach  man  to 
civil  and  domestic  life,  and  which  began  to  prevail  at  the  period 
when  these  dramas  were  written.  In  Germany  the  Grateful  Son9 
the  Deserter  for  filial  love,  and  other  productions  were  directed 
to  the  same  object.  The  Minister,  Clementine,  and  the  rest  of 
Gehler's  works,  as  well  as  Gemmigen's  Father  of  a  Family,  ex- 
cited interest  and  even  admiration,  by  portraying  the  virtues 
that  are  met  with  in  the  middling  and  lower  ranks  of  life.  These 
works  were  enthusiastically  received  by  the  majority  of  the 
public.  Eckhoff,  by  the  respectability  of  his  private  character, 
imparted  to  the  profession  of  an  actor  a  degree  of  dignity  which 
it  had  not  previously  possessed.  The  expression  of  honour- 
able feeling  was  admirably  suited  to  a  man  of  his  stamp.  Thus 
the  principal  characters  in  the  dramas  which  I  have  just  men- 
tioned, derived  their  greatest  interest  from  his  talent  and  cha- 
racter. 

About  the  same  time  Schroeder,  who  was  at  once  an  author  and 
an  actor,  and  who  had  become  familiar  with  the  English  drama 
through  the  intercourse  existing  between  Great  Britain  and  Ham- 
burgh, where  he  resided,  sought  to  introduce  English  comedy 
on  the  German  stage.  But  in  the  comic  productions  of  the 
English  he  found  only  a  groundwork  for  his  own  labours  ;  for 
the  original  pieces  are,  almost  without  exception,  imperfer- 


MEMOIRS  OF'GOKTHE. 


Those  which  begin  well,  and  which  seem  to  promise  something 
like  a  regularly  conceived  plan,  for  the  most  part  end  in  an  inex- 
tricable labyrinth.    It  would  appear  that  the  authors  have  had 
no  other  design  than  that  of  stringing  together  a  few  amusing 
scenes  ;  and  if  by  chance  we  are  led  to  anticipate  an  interesting 
p.nd  regular  work,  we  soon  find  ourselves  lost  in  an  endless  maze. 
Besides,  the  half-barbarous  immorality  and  triviality  which  per- 
vade these  productions,  render  their  representation  truly  into- 
lerable ;    and  from  this  mass  of  impunity  it  is  impossible  to 
disconnect  either  the  plot  or  the  characters  of  a  piece.  In 
short,  English  comedy  is  a  coarse  and   dangerous  aliment, 
suited  only  to  the  taste  of  a  rude  and  corrupt  multitude  at  a  cer- 
tain period.    Schrœder  has  done  more  than  could  have  been 
expected  with  these  pieces.    He  has  changed  even  their  primi- 
I  tive  conceptions,  and  has  adapted  them  to  the  German  taste,  by 
softening  down  their  colouring.  Still,  however,  they  are  imbued 
with  a  spirit  of  coarseness,  which  even  Schrœder  could  not  era- 
dicate; for  all  their  comic  humour  consists  in  the  merited  or 
unmerited  degradation  of  individuals.    However,  this  species  of 
drama  having  gained  a  footing  on  our  sta^e,  has  served  as  a 
counterpoise  to  a  kind  of  far-fetched  and  over-delicate  morali- 
ty ;  and  the  conflict  of  the  two  styles  has  happily  preserved  us 
from  monotony,  otherwise  inevitable. 

The  German,  with  his  natural  benevolence  and  generosity  of 
feeling,  dislikes  to  see  any  one  ill-used  ;  but  yet,  however  good 
we  may  be,  we  are  seldom  amused  except  it  be  in  some  degree 
at  the  expense  of  others.  Comedy  in  particular  pleases  only 
when  it  excites  a  certain  malicious  merriment  in  the  spectator. 
Thus  our  comic  writers  ventured  upon  a  sort  of  pleasantry  which 
had  hitherto  been  regarded  as  an  indecorum,  and  which  con- 
sisted in  bringing  down  the  higher  ranks  of  society  from  their 
exalted  sphere,  and  subjecting  them  to  dramatic  castigation. 
Satire  had  previously  refrained  from  assailing  the  court  and  the 
nobility.  Rabener  had  attacked  only  the  absurdities  of  the 
lower  classes.  Zacharia  exercised  his  pencil  in  delineating  the 
comic  whims  and  peculiarities  of  the  country  nobility,  but  had 
not  ventured  to  degrade  them.  But  times  were  changed. 
Thummel's  Wilhelmine,  a  little  production  equally  distinguished 
for  ingenuity  and  boldness,  was  received  with  the  highest  favour  ; 
s nd  the  malignant  pleasure  of  seeing  the  author,  who  was  a  gen- 
tleman and  a  courtier,  unsparingly  attack  the  upper  ranks  of 
society,  was  a  circumstance  which  doubtless  contributed  to  its 
success.  But  the  decisive  blow  was  given  by  Lessing,  in  his 
Mmilia  Galotti;  there  the  odious  passions  of  the  great  were 
painted  in  gloomy  and  decided  colours.  All  these  productions 
were  favoured  by  the  spirit  of  the  age  ;  and  men  of  but  little 
genius  and  talent  found  they  might  venture  upon  this  or  even  a 
bolder  course.  Thus  Grossmann's  wretched  comedy  entitled 
Six  unsavoury  Dishes,  was  in  some  measure  seasoned  with  all. 
the  pungent  ingredients  suited  to  the  taste  of  the  multitude« 


228 


MEMOIRS  0*P  GOETHE, 


Thenceforward  it  became  indispensably  necessary  to  choose 
dramatic  villains  from  the  upper  classes  of  life.  No  man  of 
rank  inferior  to  a  Chamberlain  or  a  Privy  Councillor,  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  furnishing  a  model  of  consummate  turpitude, 
This  honour  was  reserved  exclusively  for  persons  of  distinction. 

But  to  return  to  what  concerns  myself  ;  I  must  once  more 
mention  my  eager  desire  to  execute  the  plan  of  a  dramatic  work 
which  1  had  long  ago  conceived.  My  unabating  enthusiasm  for 
the  writings  of  Shakspeare  had  enlarged  the  circle  of  my  ideas. 
The  stage  appeared  to  me  too  limited,  and  the  ordinary  dura- 
tion of  a  performance  too  brief  to  suffice  for  the  developement 
of  a  great  work.  In  dramatizing  the  character  of  the  noble 
Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen,  i  endeavoured  to  preserve  the  events 
of  his  life  in  the  manner  in  which  he  has  himself  described 
them,  invested  with  all  their  historical  interest.  My  imagination 
rose,  as  it  were,  with  my  subject,  and  the  forms  which  1  adopted 
exceeding  all  the  limits  of  scenic  representation,  approximated 
more  and  more  to  those  of  a  dramatic  narrative.  Urged  by  my 
sister,  who  expressed  her  impatience  to  see  me  commence  the 
undertaking.  1  took  up  my  pen  and  wrote  my  first  scene.  With 
this,  Cornelia  appeared  satisfied,  though  she  placed  but  little 
faith  in  my  perseverance.  Piqued  by  her  distrust,  and  at  the 
same  time  encouraged  by  her  approbation,  !  completed  my  work 
in  the  space  of  six  weeks.  1  showed  it  to  iYierk,  who  pronounced 
a  favourable  opinion  on  it.  1  next  sent  it  to  Herder,  who  han- 
dled it  with  severity,  and  ridiculed  at  once  the  piece  and  the 
author.  Without  being  discouraged,  I  some  time  afterwards  care- 
fully revised  my  work,  and  I  perceived  that  independently  of 
the  unities  of  time  and  place,  I  had  violated  the  unity  of  inte- 
rest ;  which,  in  my  opinion,  was  still  more  important.  1  set  to 
work  courageously,  and  without  mercy  struck  out  parts  which 
pleased  me  very  well,  but  in  which  1  found  1  had  deviated 
from  the  rules  of  art,  I  soon  completed  my  drama  under  a  new 
form  ;  but  I  was  still  dissatisfied  and  wished  to  subject  it  to  some 
additional  corrections.  I  consulted  Merk  on  the  subject;  he 
asked  me  what  advantage  I  expected  to  derive  from  these  per- 
petual alterations.  "  A  thing  thus  continually  done  and  undone," 
said  he,  u  may  indeed  change  its  form,  but  it  will  seldom  be  im- 
proved. We  should  calculate  well  the  eifect  of  a  work,  and 
when  it  is  once  finished,  commence  a  new  one.  These  eternal 
alterations  indicate  nothing  but  irresolution.*' 

A  new  experiment  in  literature,  hazarded  by  a  young  man,  un- 
known to  the  public,  could  not  fail  to  be  pronounced  an  act  of 
temerity.  1  was  afraid  I  should  find  no  bookseller  willing  to  un- 
dertake the  publication  of  my  dramatic  production.  Merk. 
however,  obviated  this  difficulty.  He  seized  the  opportunity  of 
indulging  his  taste  for  trading  speculation.  As  editor  of  the 
Frankfort  Gazette,  he  had  formed  a  connexion  with  literary  men 
and  booksellers.    My  work  was  original,  and  he  therefore  con- 


3ÎEM0IRS  OP  GOETHE 


reived  it  could  not  fail  to  be  attractive.  We  agreed  to  publish 
it  at  our  own  expense.  1  undertook  to  supply  the  paper  and 
Merk  engaged  to  defray  the  cost  of  printing.  We  immediately 
put  our  design  into  execution,  and  I  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  my  dramatic  sketch  in  print.  It  excited  greater  interest 
than  I  had  expected,  and  was  an  object  of  almost  general  atten- 
tion. However,  through  the  want  of  sufficient  connexion,  we 
were  unabe  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  public,  and  a  pirated 
edition  of  the  work  soon  made  its  appearance.  Our  receipts, 
particularly  in  ready  money,  came  slowly  in  ;  and  my  pecuniary 
resources  were  not,  of  course,  very  extensive.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened that  at  the  moment  when  !  was  the  object  of  public  atten- 
tion, and  when  my  work  was  crowned  with  complete  success,  I 
had  scarcely  the  means  of  paying  for  the  paoer  which  had  ena- 
bled me  to  unfold  my  talent  to  the  world  Merk,  who  was  ac- 
customed to  extricate  himself  from  embarrassments  of  this  kind, 
promised  to  arrange  all  in  a  satisfactory  way  ;  but  I  was  obliged 
to  content  myself  merely  with  the  breath  of  fame. 

Some  fugitive  essays,  which  I  had  published  anonymously, 
had  afforded  me  the  means  of  knowing  the  public  and  the  jour- 
nalists. 1  had  seen  how  they  treated  writers,  who,  in  my  opi- 
nion, possessed  the  highest  merit.  I  could,  therefore,  appre- 
ciate the  value  of  their  praise  and  their  condemnation.  I  had 
learned  to  endure  censure,  and  1  was  not  transported  by  enco- 
mium. 

This  indifference  proved  very  useful  to  me  ;  for  if  my  ideas 
had  not  been  firmly  fixed,  into  what  errors  might  I  not  have  been 
led  by  the  contradictions  I  remarked  even  in  the  criticisms  of 
well-informed  men.  I  may  mention,  as  an  example,  a  long  ana- 
lysis of  my  piece  which  appeared  in  the  German  Mercury,  f 
could  not  convince  myself  of  the  justice  of  the  writer's  censure,nor 
of  the  propriety  of  the  hints  he  threw  out  to  me.  What  was  my  joy 
when  I  observed  in  the  next  number  of  the  Journal  some  re* 
marks  by  Wieland  more  favourable  to  my  work.  He  took  up 
my  defence,  and  pointed  out  the  errors  of  my  first  judge.  Still, 
however,  the  condemnation  had  been  recorded.  If,  thought  I, 
men  of  talent  and  information  form  such  erroneous  judgments, 
what  must  1  expect  from  the  mass  of  the  public. 

The  pleasure  which  I  derived  from  my  friendly  intercourse 
with  Merk,  was  unfortunately  of  short  duration.  1  he  intelli- 
gent Landgravine  of  Hesse  Darmstadt  engaged  him  to  join  her 
suite  in  a  journey  to  St.  Petersburgh.  His  correspondence  suc- 
ceeded to  his  conversation.  His  letters,  which  were  filled  with 
interesting  details,  extended  my  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
helped  to  form  my  mind.  But  still  I  could  not  help  regretting 
his  absence  at  a  moment  when  1  so  much  needed  his  advice. 

He  who  determines  to  enlist  as  a  soldier  makes  up  his  mind 
to  endure  the  fatigues  and  dangers  of  war  :  he  looks  forward  to 
privation,  wounds,  and  even  death  ;  but  he  has  only  a  vague  and 


230 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


general  notion  of  these  miseries,  and  forms  no  idea  of  the  cir- 
cumstances through  which  they  may  unexpectedly  occur.    It  is 
the  same  with  the  man  who  tries  his  fortune  in  the  world  in  any 
way,  but  above  all  as  an  author.    Of  this  truth  Ï  was  soon  con- 
vinced by  experience.    I  was  indebted  for  the  public  favour  to 
the  subject  rather  than  to  the  execution  of  my  work.  Indeed, 
the  subject  of  a  literary  composition  was  considered  by  the 
young  writers  of  the  day  merely  as  a  banner,  beneath  which 
they  might,  at  their  ease,  display  a  taste  for  unrestrained  inde- 
pendence :  this  was  a  charm  that  had  attracted  better  heads 
than  mine.    I  have  in  my  possession  a  letter  from  Burger,  that 
eminent,  and,  in  many  respects,  truly  singular  genius,  which 
bears  testimony  to  the  effect  produced  by  the  appearance  of 
my  drama.     On  the  other  hand  several  sensible  men  blamed 
me  for  having  clothed  anarchy  in  seductive  colours,  and  went  so 
far  as  to  impute  to  me  a  wish  to  revive  the  reign  of  disorder  and 
the  law  of  force.     Others  pronounced  me  to  be  a  profound 
scholar,  and  proposed  that  1  should  reprint  the  original  narrative 
of  my  hero,  with  notes.    Because  I  had  plucked  (he  flowers  of 
reputation,  they  gave  me  credit  for  being  a  careful  and  expe- 
rienced gardener.     However,  some  proved  themselves  rather 
sceptical  on  the  subject  of  my  learning,  and  suspected  that  I 
was  not  thoroughly  intimate  with  the  history  of  the  period  from 
which    I   had  chosen  my  subject.     I  one  day  unexpectedly 
received  a  visit  from  a  distinguished  public  functionary.    I  was 
the  more  sensible  to  the  honour  thus  conferred  on  me  when  he 
commenced  the  conversation  by  complimenting  me  on  the 
merits  of  my  drama,  and  my  historical  knowledge.  However, 
he  soon  made  me  acquainted  with  the  real  object  of  his  visit. 
He  had  called  to  inform  me  that  Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen  was 
not  the  brother  in-law  of  Franz  Von  Sickingen,  and  that  by  this 
imaginary  alliance,  I  had  deviated  from  the  truth  of  history.  I 
appealed  to  the  authority  of  Goëtz  himself,  who  addresses  Franz 
by  the  title  alluded  to  ;  but  I  was  given  to  understand  that  that 
was  purely  a  mark  of  courtesy  to  an  intimate  friend,  and  that  no 
more  relationship  existed  between  these  two  cel  brated  men, 
than  between  travellers  and  postilions,  when  the  latter  are  ad- 
dressed by  the  title  of  brother-in-law.*    I  thanked  him  for  this 
lesson,  and  at  the  same  time  told  him  I  was  sorry  it  was  too 
late  to   profit  by  it.    At  this  he  also  expressed  his  regret. 
He  advised  me  to  set  to  work  and  study  the  history  and 
constitution  of  Germany,  for  which  purpose  he  offered  me 
the  use  of  his  library  ;  a  favour  of  which  I  failed  not  amply 
to  avail  myself. 

But  the  most  comical  incident  to  which  the  production  of  my 
drama  gave  rise,  was  the  visit  I  received  from  a  bookseller, 
who,  without  any  ceremony,  asked  me  to  write  a  dozen  such 

*  Schwager  (brother-in-law)  is  the  appejlation  familiarly  applied  to  postilion?  in 
Germany. 


3l£ttOIKS  OF  GOKÏUE, 


^orks,  promising  to  give  me  liberal  encouragement  for  my 
labour.  J  was  very  much  amused  at  this  proposition.  But, 
after  all,  it  was  not  so  ridiculous  as  may  at  first  sight  appear  ; 
for  I  had  been  turning  over  in  my  mind  the  most  remarkable 
events  of  German  history,  with  the  view  of  rendering  them  the 
subjects  of  dramatic  composition.  But  these  ideas,  like  many 
others  1  formed,  were  never  carried  into  effect. 

The  drama  of  Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen  was  not,  however,  the 
only  object  to  which  1  directed  my  attention.  While  i  was 
writing  and  re-writing  it,  and  superintending  the  printing  and 
publishing,  I  revolved  in  my  mind  plans  for  other  works,  i 
prepared  to  enter  upon  another  kind  of  imitative  composition, 
which  is  not  usualiy  classed  with  dramatic  literature,  though 
there  is  really  considerable  analogy  between  the  two  styles. 
To  this  new  labour  my  attention  was  called  by  a  habit  which  Ï 
believe  to  be  peculiar  to  myself. 

Accustomed  to  derive  my  most  agreeable  recreation  from  so- 
ciety, I  loved  to  substitute  an  imaginary  conversation  for  solitary 
ideas,  and  when  I  was  alone  my  fancy  created  interlocutors, 
with  whom  I  discussed  the  subject  that  happened  at  the  time 
to  engage  my  thoughts.  I  addressed  the  person  whom  my  fancy 
pictured,  as  though  he  had  really  been  present  ;  and  I  imagined 
him  to  answer  me,  either  by  words  or  by  those  signs  of  approval 
or  disapproval  which  I  knew  to  be  characteristic  of  the  supposed 
individual.  I  laid  down  my  propositions,  and  explained  and 
defended  all  that  was  disapproved,  until  I  succeeded  in  bringing 
my  interlocutor  over  to  my  opinion.  It  is  curious  that  1  did 
not  select  for  these  imaginary  colloquies,  persons  with  whom  I 
was  intimately  acquainted  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  those  whom  Î 
had  seldom  seen,  who  lived  at  a  distance  from  me,  or  whom  I 
had  only  accidentally  met  in  society.  1  generally  chose  for  my 
interlocutors  persons  who  were  calculated  to  listen  rather  than 
to  speak,  and  who  possessed  good  sense  enough  to  take  an 
interest  in  what  was  submitted  to  their  consideration,  without 
seeking  to  depart  from  their  proper  sphere.  I  often  summoned 
to  these  imaginary  discussions  individuals  of  both  sexes  and  of 
every  rank.  I  conversed  only  on  such  subjects  as  were  suited 
to  their  understandings  and  tastes  :  ?nd  thus  1  conceived  myself 
entitled  to  rely  with  confidence  on  their  definitive  approval. 

It  is  easy  to  perceive  the  relation  that  exists  between  these 
imaginary  dialogues  and  epistolary  correspondence.  The  only 
difference  is,  that  correspondence  supposes  a  mutual  confidence, 
while  in  ideal  conversation  one  may  procure  a  continual  change 
of  interlocutors,  towards  whom  one  i-  bound  by  no  reciprocal 
feelings.  At  the  time  to  which  I  am  now  referring,  the  subject 
I  wished  to  paint,  was  that  distaste  of  life  which  is  not  the  result 
either  of  want  or  misery.  For  this  picture  the  epistolary  form 
naturally  presented  itself  to  me.  Melancholy  is  the  offspring 
of  solitude.    He  who  yields  to  melancholy,  flies  from  every 


MEMOI&S  OF  GOETHE 


thing  that  is  calculated  to  produce  a  contrary  impression,  and  he 
feels  nothing  more  intolerable  than  the  gayety  and  tumult  of 
society.  The  pleasures  which  others  enjoy  are  to  him  a  pain- 
ful reproach,  and  that  which  might  be  expected  to  wean  him 
from  his  melancholy,  only  plunges  him  more  deeply  into  it.  If 
he  ever  unfold  the  sentiments  which  agitate  him,  it  is  only  in 
epistolary  communication.  An  overflowing  of  the  heart,  con- 
veyed through  the  medium  of  writing,  whether  it  have  for  its 
object  the  expression  of  gayety  or  of  grief,  meets  with  no  contra- 
diction. A  reply  inspired  by  opposite  sentiments,  serves  only 
to  confirm  the  recluse  in  his  disordered  fancies.  If  the  letters 
of  Werther,  written  in  this  spirit,  present  so  varied  a  charm,  it 
is  because  the  character  which  I  have  given  to  each  letter,  was 
suggested  by  the  imaginary  dialogues  which  I  successively 
maintained  with  different  interlocutors,  though  in  the  work  in 
question  the  letters  are  addressed  only  to  one  friend.  But  I 
have  already  said  enough  as  to  the  way  in  which  this  little  book 
was  composed  ;  1  will  now  confine  myself  to  an  explanation  of 
its  object. 

The  distaste  of  life  is  always  the  effect  of  physical  and  moral 
causes  combined.  The  former  claim  the  attention  of  the 
physician  ;  but  the  latter  is  the  task  of  the  moralist  to  investi- 
gate. In  treating  a  subject  which  has  already  been  so  frequently 
discussed,  I  shall  merely  content  myself  with  mentioning  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  malady  most  frequently  appears. 
Every  enjoyment  in  life  is  founded  on  the  regular  recurrence 
of  external  objects.  The  alternation  of  day  and  night,  the 
return  of  the  seasons,  flowers,  and  fruits  ;  finally,  all  that  is  re- 
produced at  fixed  periods  as  objects  of  enjoyment,  are  the  ex- 
citements of  our  earthly  existence.  The  more  we  are  accessi- 
ble to  pleasures  of  this  kind,  the  greater  is  our  happiness.  But 
if  we  feel  no  interest  in  the  great  phenomena  of  nature,  if  we  be 
insensible  -to  the  gifts  of  heaven,  then  we  become  victims  to 
misery  and  to  the  most  dreadful  of  diseases,  and  life  is  endured 
only  as  a  painful  burthen.  There  is  a  story  told  of  an  English- 
man who  hanged  himself  because  he  was  tired  of  dressing  and 
undressing  every  night  and  morning.  1  once  knew  a  gardener, 
the  superintendent  of  some  extensive  pleasure  grounds,  who  one 
day  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  dissatisfaction,  "  Must  I  be  eternally 
doomed  to  see  these  rainy  clouds  pass  from  west  to  east?"  I 
have  heard,  too,  that  one  of  my  most  distinguished  countrymen 
is  so  tired  of  the  continual  return  of  verdure  in  the  spring,  that, 
for  the  sake  of  variety,  he  would  wish  nature,  at  least  for  once, 
to  assume  a  livery  of  red.  These  are  all  so  many  symptoms  of 
a  melancholy  which  often  ends  in  suicide,  and  to  which  men  of 
a  comtemplative  and  abstracted  turn  are  more  subject  than  is 
generally  supposed. 

But  the  most  frequent  cause  of  melancholy  is  inconstancy  in 
Jove,    It  has  been  truly  said  that  we  never  love  but  once  ;  for. 


MEMOIRS   OF  GQÈTUE. 


it  we  do  love  a  second  time,  the  .passion  is  for  that  very  reason 
divested  of  its  sublimest  attribute — the  sentiment  of  infinity  and 
eternity.    Its  greatest  charm  is  fled  ;  and  it  becomes  merely 
I  one  of  those  transient  sentiments  that  by  turns  appear  and  dis- 
appear.   But  it  is  not  only  in  love  that  we  have  occasion  to  re- 
mark these  sad  changes.    Jn  ail  the  events  of  life  a  young  man 
soon  learns,  either  by  his  own  personal  experience  or  the  obser- 
vation of  what  is  passing  around  him,  that  the  moral  world  has 
its  vicissitudes  like  the  seasons.    The  favour  of  the  great,  the 
opinion  of  the  public,  even  friendship  itself — all  are  liable  to 
change  ;  and  it  would  be  as  vain  to  hope  to  fix  them,  as  to 
attempt  to  stay  the  course  of  the  sun  and  moon.    But  these 
changes  are  not  only  determined  by  the  ordinary  course  of  na- 
I  ture  :  they  are  sometimes  produced  by  our  own  faults,  or  bv 
those  of  others  :  or  they  depend  on  the  will  of  fortune  or  fate. 
But,  whatever  may  be  the  cause,  it  is  certain  that  all  things  do 
change  ;  and  that  there  is  nothing  which  we  can  hope  to  possess 
in  security.    But  that  which  is  most  harassing  to  a  man  of  sus- 
ceptibility is  the  constant  recurrence  of  his  own  faults  :  for  it  is 
late  ere  we  arrive  at  the  conviction  that  our  vices  are  insepara- 
ble from  our  virtues  ;  that  they  are  connected  by  the  same  roots  ; 
and  that,  while  we  openly  cultivate  our  good  qualities,  we  at  the 
same  time  secretly  foster  our  imperfections.    We  exercise  our 
virtues  by  the  help  of  our  will  and  conscience,  while  our  vices 
take  us,  as  it  were,  unawares  :   the  former  afford  us  a  few  brief 
joys,  while  the  latter  are  the  source  of  unceasing  torment.    It  is 
this  that  renders  the  knowledge  of  one's  self  a  difficult  and  almost 
impossible  task.    When  we  consider  the  effect  produced  by 
these  internal  conflicts  on  an  ardent  temperament — when  we 
reflect  on  the  seductions  of  imagination,  and  the  continual 
agitation  of  life — we  cannot  wonder  at  the  impatience  which 
man  often  evinces  to  free  himself  from  this  miserable  bondage. 

These  gloomy  reflections,  which,  when  once  we  yield  to 
them,  lead  us  into  the  mazes  of  infinity,  would  not,  however, 
have  produced  so  powerful  a  ferment  in  the  minds  of  the  youth 
of  Germany,  had  not  their  influence  been  promoted  by  the 
operation  of  an  external  cause.  This  effect  was  produced  by 
the  study  of  the  literature,  and  particularly  the  poetry,  of 
England  ;  which,  with  all  its  great  merit,  is  embued  with  a  spirit 
of  austere  melancholy.  At  an  early  period  of  life  the  citizen 
of  Great  Britain  finds  himself  launched  upon  a  world,  the  im- 
portant occupations  of  which  stimulate  him  to  exert  all  his  in- 
tellectual powers,  in  order  to  raise  himself  to  a  level  with  those 
who  surround  him.  How  many  of  the  English  poets,  after 
spending  their  early  years  in  folly  and  licentiousness,  have  after- 
ward thought  themselves  entitled  to  deplore  the  vanities  of  hu- 
man life  ?  How  many  have  plunged  into  the  tumult  of  political 
affairs,  become  members  of  the  parliament  or  the  court,  held  mi- 
nisterial or  diplomatic  posts  ;  and,  after  playing  first  or  secondary 

G  g 


334 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


parts,  mingling  in  the  internal  troubles  of  the  state  and  the 
revolutions  of  the  government,  have  at  length  sustained  the  most 
terrible  reverses,  either  in  their  own  persons  or  those  of  then- 
adherents  and  friends  ?  How  many  have  been  doomed  to  im- 
prisonment, driven  into  banishment,  or  stripped  of  their  posses- 
sions  ? 

The  experience  produced  by  great  events  is  sufficient  to  ac- 
custom men  to  serious  reflections,  but  to  convince  us  of  the 
instability  and  worthlessness  of  worldly  things  !  The  German, 
being  naturally  serious,  found  English  poetry  perfectly  adapted 
to  his  taste.  It  impressed  him  with  a  sort  of  awe,  by  seeming 
to  address  him  from  an  elevated  sphere.  Sublimity,  knowledge 
of  the  world,  intensity  and  tenderness  of  feeling,  pure  morality, 
passionate  expression — all  that  can  charm  polished  and  culti- 
vated minds — are  the  ever  recurring  beauties  of  English  poetry. 
Yet  all  these  qualities  combined  are  not  sufficient  to  complete 
the  character  of  the  poetic  Muse.  That  which  charaéterizes 
genuine  poetry,  and  renders  it  in  some  measure  a  gospel  to  the 
world,  is  the  internal  satisfaction  with  which  it  inspires  us  ; — - 
a  faculty  which  raises  us  above  ourselves,  and  frees  us  from  the 
heavy  yoke  of  our  earthly  feelings.  True  poetry  wafts  us  into 
the  regions  above,  whence  we  look  calmly  down  upon  the  con- 
fused scene  of  human  errors.  By  this  means,  according  to  the 
mode  in  which  objects  are  contemplated,  we  may  be  inspired 
either  with  gayety  or  melancholy  :  the  latter  is  the  feeling  pro- 
duced by  English  poetry,  which  is  for  the  most  part  moral  and 
didactic.  A  sombre  expression  of  the  distaste  of  life  generally 
pervades  it.  I  do  not  mean  here  to  allude  particularly  to  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,  which  are  specially  devoted  to  melancholy: 
the  remark  is  applicable  to  all  the  contemplative  poetry  of  the 
English  ;  which  transports  us,  we  know  not  how,  into  that  gloomy 
region  where  the  human  understanding  meets  with  a  problem 
beyond  its  grasp,  and  on  wThich  Religion  herself  is  silent. 
Whole  volumes  of  English  poetry  may  be  collected  together* 
and  they  will  only  afford  a  commentary  on  this  appalling  text  : — 

Then  old  age  and  experience,  hand  in  hand, 
Lead  him  to  death,  and  make  him  understand. 
After  a  search  so  painful  and  so  long, 
That  all  his  life  he  has  been  in  the  wrong. 

There  is  one  trait  peculiar  to  the  English,  which  impresses 
on  their  poetry  the  seal  of  misanthropy,  and  diffuses  over  their 
literature  the  disagreeable  hue  of  a  distaste  of  every  thing  in 
life.  I  allude  to  their  party-spirit,  which  is  the  offspring  of  their 
civil  dissensions.  This  headlong  passion  possesses  an  English  - 
man during,  at  least,  the  best  part  of  his  life.  An  author  devo- 
ted to  a  party  abstains  from  eulogizing  the  principles  to  which  he 
adheres,  lest  he  should  excite  the  animosity  of  his  adversaries  . 
He  employs  his  talent  in  attacking  and  censuring  those  to  whom 


MEMOIRS  OK  GOËTHË. 


he  is  opposed  :  he  sharpens,  and  even  poisons  the  shafts  which 
he  aims  at  them  ;  while  the  voice  of  the  public  is  drowned  amid 
the  clamour  and  violence  of  the  conflicting  parties.  Thus  a 
great  nation,  distinguished  for  intelligence  and  activity,  presents, 
even  during  the  calmest  intervals,  a  picture  of  extravagance  and 
madness. 

The  habitual  melancholy  of  the  English  Muse  extends  also 
to  sentimental  poetry.  In  this  last  style  of  composition,  the 
subject  is  sometimes  the  death  of  a  forsaken  maid  ,  or,  perhaps5 
a  faithful  lover  is  swallowed  up  by  the  waves,  or  devoured  by 
some  sea-monster,  just  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  reaching  his  be- 
loved. When  such  a  poet  as  Gray  leads  his  Muse  into  a  country 
churchyard  to  tune  her  melodious  lyre,  he  fails  not  to  excite  the 
admiration  of  all  lovers  of  melancholy.  Milton,  in  his  Megro, 
is  obliged  to  banish  melancholy  by  a  string  of  lively  verses  be- 
fore he  can  express  even  moderate  joy  ;  and  Goldsmith,  with 
all  his  natural  cheerfulness  of  spirit,  yields  to  the  inspirations  of 
the  elegiac  Muse,  in  his  sweet  poem  The  Deserted  Village,  that 
paradise  lost  for  which  his  Traveller  searches  throughout  the 
world  in  vain. 

I  shall,  doubtless,  be  told  that  there  are  English  works  and 
English  poems  of  a  more  lively  character  ;  but  the  greater  part 
of  these  compositions,  and  indeed  the  best  of  them,  are  the  pro- 
ductions of  a  remote  period.  As  to  the  more  modern  speci- 
mens of  this  kind,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  they  border  upon 
satire.  Bitter  spleen  and  contempt  of  the  fair  sex  are  their  pre- 
vailing characteristics. 

Yet,  after  all,  those  very  poems  which  savour  most  of  me- 
lancholy and  disdain  of  human  nature,  were  the  object  of  our 
predilection,  and  in  Germany  were  eagerly  devoured.  Each 
individual  viewed  them  with  reference  to  his  own  particular 
feelings.  By  some  they  were  cherished  as  an  excitement  to 
tender  melancholy  ;  and  by  others,  as  the  food  of  that  despair 
wrhich  renders  life  insupportable.  Shakspeare,  our  father  and 
master — Shakspeare,  with  all  his  joy-inspiring  powers,  contribu- 
ted in  a  singular  degree  to  lead  us  upon  this  gloomy  course. 
The  soliloquies  of  Hamlet  haunted  every  youthful  mind.  The 
finest  passages  of  the  tragedy  were  learned  by  heart  and  reci- 
ted ;  and  without  being  pursued,  like  Hamlet,  by  the  shade  of 
a  royal  father  invoking  vengeance,  every  one  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  be  as  melancholy  as  the  Prince  of  Denmark. 

That  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  complete  this  gloomy  illu- 
sion, not  even  a  scene  perfectly  adapted  to  it,  Ossian  attracted 
our  fancy  to  the  misty  shores  of  his  Thule,  at  the  extremity  of 
the  world.  There,  wandering  through  immense  forests  of  fir- 
trees  amidst  moss-covered  tombs  frowning  in  frightful  sadness, 
the  view  was  bounded  by  a  tempestuous  sky,  and  ail  was  silent 
save  the  howling  northern  blast.  The  moon  shed  her  coM 
b*ams  over  this  Caledonian  nia:ht  ;  the  shades  of  departed  £te« 


-JOG 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOKTHE, 


roes,  or  of  maidens  pale  as  faded  lilies,  fleeted  before  our  eyes  ; 
and  the  spirit  of  Loda  appeared  in  all  its  terror. 

Amidst  these  fantastic  elements,  these  chimerical  pictures,  the 
imaginations  of  our  youth  were  absorbed  in  the  sorrows  of  ill- 
fated  passion.  The  ordinary  course  of  worldly  affairs  afford- 
ed no  excitement  to  the  mind,  and  they  looked  forward  only  to 
the  cheerless  prospect  of  lingering  through  the  tedious  languor 
of  common  life.  They  consoled  themselves  with  the  determi- 
nation of  ridding  themselves  of  the  burthen  of  existence,  as 
soon  as  it  should  become  absolutely  insupportable.  The  little 
disappointments  and  vexations  of  every  day  occurrence,  served 
only  to  confirm  this  state  of  feeling.  It  spread  uuiversally,  and 
was  the  cause  of  the  great  success  of  Werther.  That  work 
embodied  the  painful  dreams  of  a  distempered  youthful  fancy  ; 
it  conveyed  the  expression,  the  echo,  of  a  universal  sentiment. 
That  the  English  were  already  familiar  with  this  state  of  men- 
tal affliction,  may  be  seen  by  the  following  lines,  which  wer'N 
written  before  the  appearance  of  Werther  : — 

M  To  griefs  congenial  prone, 
More  wounds  than  Nature  gave  he  knew  ; 
While  Misery's  form  his  faucy  drew, 
In  dark  ideal  hues  and  sorrows  not  its  own." 

Suicide,  after  all  that  has  been  said  and  written  on  the  sub- 
ject, still  affords  ample  scope  for  interesting  consideration. 
Montesquieu,  speaking  of  the  heroes  and  great  men  of  anti- 
quity, says  that  each  conceived  himself  at  liberty  to  close  the 
fifth  act  of  his  tragedy  at  any  time  and  in  any  manner  he  thought 
fit. 

But  I  do  not  here  propose  to  consider  the  question  of  suicide 
with  reference  to  those  men  who  have  figured  in  the  great 
theatre  of  the  world,  and  whose  lives  have  been  devoted  to  the 
welfare  of  a  powerful  empire,  or  to  the  interests  of  liberty.  Such 
men,  perhaps,  are  not  to  blame  for  having  sought  in  another 
world  the  accomplishment  of  their  grand  ideas,  when  they  found 
themselves  cut  off  from  hope  in  this.  I  here  allude  only  to 
those  individuals,  who  unable  to  find  an  object  on  which  to  ex- 
ercise their  activity,  and  led  astray  by  extravagant  desires, 
become  disgusted  with  an  existence  which  to  them  seems  too 
tranquil  and  peaceful.  Such  was,  at  one  time,  the  peculiar  dis- 
position of  my  own  mind  ;  and  I  well  remember  how  much  pain 
I  suffered,  and  how  many  efforts  I  made  to  effect  my  cure.  I 
set  about  deliberating  coolly  on  the  choice  of  a  mode  of  death, 
and  the  following  are  the  reflections  which  this  subject  suggest- 
ed to  me. 

To  detach  himself  from  existence,  to  annihilate  himself,  is 
an  act  so  unnatural  to  man,  that  he  is  almost  always  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  mechanical  means  to  accomplish  it.  When 
Ajax  threw  himself  upon  his  sword,  the  weight  of  his  body 


HEItfOIRS  OP  GOKTHt;, 


rendered  him  this  last  service  :  when  a  warrior  directs  his  'squire 
not  to  allow  him  to  fall  alive  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  he 
relies  on  the  assistance  of  an  external  moral  force.  Women 
seek  in  the  waves  a  remedy  for  their  despair.  By  means  of  the 
mechanism  of  a  pistol,  the  object  is  attained  with  the  greatest 
despatch  and  the  least  possible  effort.  Hanging  is  an  ignoble 
mode  of  suicide,  not  to  be  spoken  of:  the  English  resort  to  it 
because  they  are  accustomed  from  childhood  to  witness  that 
kind  of  death,  and  therefore  never  thi;  k  of  the  disgrace  con- 
nected with  it.  Poisoning  and  opening  veins  are  tedious  ways 
of  freeing  one's  self  from  existence  :  but  the  bite  of  an  asp  may 
be  styled  a  ready,  easy,  and  elegant  mode  of  death,  and  was  an 
idea  worthy  of  a  queen  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the  midst 
of  pomp  and  pleasure.  All  these  resources  are  so  many  ene- 
mies with  which  we  may  conspire  against  ourselves. 

After  a  careful  examination  of  all  the  modes  of  suicide  which 
history  suggested  to  me,  I  found  that  no  one  had  accomplished 
this  act  with  greater  magnanimity  and  calmness  of  mind  than 
the  Emperor  Otho.  That  prince  had  lost  a  battle,  it  is  true  : 
but  his  affairs  were  not  yet  desperate.  It  was  for  the  good  of 
the  empire,  which  already  in  some  measure  belonged  to  him, 
and  for  the  sake  of  sparing  the  lives  of  so  many  millions  of  men 
ready  to  sacrifice  themselves  for  or  against  him,  that  he  resolved 
to  put  himself  to  death.  He  supped  cheerfully  with  his  friends  ; 
and  the  next  morning  he  was  found  pierced  through  the  heart 
with  a  poniard.  Of  all  acts  of  the  kind,  this  appeared  to  me 
the  only  one  worthy  of  imitation  ;  and  i  persuaded  myself  that 
no  man  who  did  not  determine  to  follow  the  example  of  Otho, 
should  presume  to  make  an  attempt  against  his  life.  This  con- 
viction, though  it  did  not  lead  me  absolutely  to  renounce  the 
idea  of  suicide,  at  least  preserved  me  from  one  of  those  fits  of 
melancholy  with  which  the  minds  of  our  youth  were  assailed. 
I  had  a  fine  collection  of  arms  of  every  kind  ;  and,  among  the 
rest,  a  valuable  poniard  well  sharpened.  I  placed  it  nightly  by 
my  bedside  ;  and,  before  I  extinguished  the  light,  I  hesitated 
several  times  whether  or  not  I  should  plunge  it  in  my  breast  : 
but,  as  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  this  resolution,  I  always 
concluded  by  laughing  at  my  own  folly.  I  chased  from  my 
thoughts  these  extravagant  ravings  of  a  sickly  imagination,  and 
determined  to  live.  But,  that  I  might  again  derive  satisfaction 
from  existence,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  painting  in  some  ima- 
ginative composition  all  the  sentiments,  ideas,  and  even  illu- 
sions, with  which  this  important  subject  had  inspired  me.  I  com- 
bined together  the  elements  of  a  work  which  had  been  ferment- 
ing in  my  brain  for  some  years.  I  recalled  all  the  events  which 
had  caused  me  the  greatest  degree  of  pain  and  sorrow  ;  but 
my  ideas  did  not  acquire  a  fixed  form.  I  wanted  an  incident, 
a  story  upon  which  I  might  embody  them. 
While  my  thoughts  were  thus  employed,  the  death  of  yoims; 


338 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOÈTHL, 


Jerusalem  took  place.  The  most  minute  and  circumstantial 
details  of  the  event  were  immediately  circulated.  The  plan 
of  Werther  was  instantly  conceived.  The  elements  of  that 
composition  seemed  now  to  amalgamate,  to  form  a  whole,  just 
as  water,  on  the  point  of  freezing  in  a  vase,  receives  from  the 
slightest  concussion  the  form  of  a  compact  piece  of  ice.  I 
was  the  more  desirous  of  giving  consistency  to  a  work  of  so 
lively  and  varied  an  interest,  and  of  executing  it  in  all  its  parts, 
as  I  had  already  relapsed  into  a  state  in  which  I  experienced 
greater  pain,  with  even  less  hope  of  relief,  than  I  had  ever  felt 
before  ;  a  circumstance  which  promised  only  a  continuance  of 
misery,  or,  at  least,  of  discontent. 

To  form  connexions,  which  have  so  natural  or  solid  basis,  is 
always  a  misfortune.  We  often  find  ourselves  drawn  against 
our  inclinations  into  an  equivocal  intimacy  ;  we  lament  that  we 
are  condemned  to  a  sort  of  half- affection,  yet  we  find  ourselves 
unable  either  to  confirm  or.  to  relinquish  it. 

Madame  La  Roche  had  married  her  eldest  daughter  at  Frank- 
fort. She  frequently  visited  her,  and  showed  herself  dissatisfied 
with  a  union  which,  however,  had  been  the  result  of  her  choice. 
Instead  of  appearing  content,  or  of  contriving  some  change 
for  the  better,  she  was  continually  venting  complaints,  and  thus 
gave  reason  to  suppose  that  her  daughter  was  unhappy  ;  though, 
as  the  young  lady  seemed  to  possess  all  she  wished,  and  ex- 
perienced every  indulgence  from  her  husband,  it  was  difficult  to 
conceive  whence  her  unhappiness  could  arise.  Being  on  an  in- 
timate footing  with  the  family,  I  soon  became  acquainted  with 
the  circle  of  their  friends,  of  whom  some  had  promoted  the 
marriage  of  Mademoiselle  La  Roche,  and  all  formed  wishes  for 
her  happiness.  Among  these  individuals  was  M.  Dumeix,  the 
dean  of  St.  Leonard,  who  granted  me  his  confidence  and  friend- 
ship. He  was  the  first  catholic  ecclesiastic  with  whom  I  had 
been  on  terms  of  inti  nacy  ;  and  I  derived  much  gratification 
from  the  interesting  manner  in  which  he  explained  to  me  the 
creed  and  rites  of  the  old  church,  its  internal  discipline,  and 
relations  with  society.  I  also  well  remember,  among  the  visiters 
to  the  house,  a  lady  named  Servi  kres,  who  was  very  beautiful, 
though  at  that  time  not  very  young.  I  took  great  pleasure  in 
the  society  of  these  new  friends,  and  participated  in  their  oc- 
cupations, their  amusements,  and  even  their  religious  worship. 
My  early  and  truly  fraternal  attachment  to  Mademoiselle  La 
lloche  continued  after  her  marriage.  My  age  corresponded 
with  hers  ;  and,  of  all  her  friends,  I  was  the  only  one  whom  she 
found  to  cherish  that  turn  of  thinking  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed  from  her  earliest  years.  The  most  perfect  con- 
fidence subsisted  between  us;  and  though  our  mutual  regard 
was  untinctured  by  passion,  yet  I  found,  nevertheless,  that  it  led 
to  unpleasant  consequences.  The  young  lady  was  not  perfectly 
reconciled  to  her  new  condition.    Though  enjoying  the  bounty 


■ 


MEMOiKS  OF  GOETHE, 


of  îbrtune,  she  found  herself,  in  some  measure,  an  exile  in  a 
house  of  business  unpleasantly  situated,  where  she  had  to  per- 
form the  duties  of  a  mother  to  the  children  of  a  former  mar- 
riage ;  and  she  remembered  with  regret  the  smiling  valley  of 
Ehrenbreitstein,  and  the  gayety  of  her  youth.  I  now  found 
myself  involved  in  all  the  interests  of  the  family,  without  being 
able  to  take  any  real  or  active  part  in  them.  Whenever  any 
cause  of  disagreement  arose,  an  appeal  was  made  to  me  ;  and 
the  force  of  affection  generally  contributed  to  render  matters 
worse  instead  of  better.  All  the  vexations  which  invariably 
spring  from  this  kind  of  misplaced  attachments  now  weighed 
upon  me  with  twofold  force  :  and  I  found  it  necessary,  once 
more,  to  form  a  resolution  to  free  myself  from  the  burthen  of 
my  feelings. 

Jerusalem's  death,  which  was  occasioned  by  his  unhappy  pas- 
sion for  the  wife  of  his  friend,  suddenly  roused  me  from  me  from 
my  dream.  With  horror  I  compared  his  situation  with  my  own  ; 
and  I  was  powerfully  struck  by  the  resemblance.  The  com- 
position on  which  I  was  then  engaged  could  not,  therefore,  fail 
to  breathe  that  glow  of  feeling,  which  confers  on  a  work  of  fic- 
tion the  interest  of  reality.  1  shut  myself  up,  and  abstained 
even  from  receiving  the  visits  of  my  friends  ;  and  while  I'set  aside 
all  that  was  not  immediately  connected  with  my  subject,  I  col- 
lected together  all  that  had  any  relation  to  my  plan.  I  called 
to  mind  all  the  recent  circumstances  of  my  life  to  which  1  had 
not  yet  imparted  the  colouring  of  fancy.  Under  the  influence 
of  all  these  circumstances,  and  after  preparations  made  slowly 
and  in  secret,  I  produced  Werther  in  the  space  of  four  weeks, 
without  having  previously  conceived  any  plan,  or  written  any 
portion  of  the  work. 

The  manuscript  being  completed  with  very  few  corrections  or 
alterations,  I  lost  no  time  in  getting  the  sheets  put  together  : 
for  binding  is  not  less  necessary  to  a  book  than  a  frame  is  to  a 
picture  ;  it  enables  one  the  better  to  seize  the  connexion  be- 
tween the  different  parts.  I  had  written  this  little  work  without 
previous  deliberation  :  it  was  like  an  act  of  somnambulism  ;  and 
on  revising  it,  1  was  myself  struck  with  the  connected  form  which 
it  presented.  In  the  hope  that  some  new  ideas  forks  improve- 
ment  might  be  suggested  to  me,  I  submitted  it  to  the  perusal  of 
several  of  my  young  friends.  Contrary  to  my  usual  custom, 
I  had  not  hinted  to  any  one  what  I  was  engaged  on,  and  thus 
the  perusal  of  my  composition  produced  the  more  powerful 
impression  on  those  who  first  saw  it.  This  impression  arose 
entirely  out  of  the  subject,  and  totally  the  reverse  of  the  effect 
which  the  work  had  produced  on  the  mind  of  its  author.  My 
own  faults  or  those  of  others,  chance  or  my  own  will,  reflec- 
tion or  imprudence,  obstinacy  of  compliance,  had  hurled  me 
on  a  tempestuous  ocean,  where  I  was  tossed  to  and  fro  at  the 
mercy  of  the  waves.    I  owed  my  deliverance  to  the  little  com- 


Mo 


MLMeiRS  OF  GOETHE. 


position,  with  the  idea  of  which  my  situation  had  inspired  me, 
I  recovered  my  serenity  of  mind.  I  was  like  a  sinner  relieved 
from  the  burthen  of  his  errors  by  a  general  confession  ;  and  I 
felt  inspired  with  energy  to  enter  upon  a  new  existence.  I  had 
transformed  reality  into  fiction,  and  I  felt  myself  relieved.  My 
friends,  on  the  contrary,  imagined  that  my  work  might,  perhaps, 
have  the  effect  of  converting  fiction  into  fact,  of  introducing 
into  real  life  the  extravagance  of  romance,  and  affording  an 
apology  for  suicide.  The  idea  thus  erroneously  conceived  by 
a  few  individuals,  soon  extended  to  the  public  ;  and  the  work 
which  had  occasioned  so  great  a  benefit  to  me,  was  declared 
to  have  the  most  dangerous  tendency. 

But  whatever  mischiefs  it  may  have  caused,  an  accidental  cir- 
cumstance had  well  nigh  prevented  them  all,  and  annihilated 
the  work  even  at  the  very  moment  of  its  birth.    Merk  had  just 
arrived  from  St.  Petersburgh  ;  but  in  consequence  of  his  in- 
cessant occupations  I  had  seen  but  little  of  him,  and  1  had  only 
given  him  a  general  idea  of  the  production  to  which  I  attached 
so  high  an  importance.    At  length,  however,  he  came  to  see 
me  one  day  ;  and  as  he  was  not  in  a  very  talkative  mood,  I 
begged  he  would  sit  down  and  hear  me  read.    He  seated  him- 
self on  a  sofa,  and  I  read  to  him  several  of  the  letters  of  Wer- 
ther regularly  through.    He  had  been  listening  to  me  for  some 
time  without  manifesting  any  sign  of  approbation,  when,  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  passage  more  pathetic  than  the  rest,  he  sud- 
denly rose,  and  exclaiming  in  an  ironical  tone,  "  Oh  !  that's  ad- 
mirable !"  immediately  quitted  the  room.    I  had  always  refrain- 
ed from  forming  any  positive  opinion  of  my  own  works,  what- 
ever might  be  my  predilection  for  them,  until  I  should  hear  the 
judgment  of  others  ;  and  I  was  now  firmly  convinced  that  Wer- 
ther was  faulty  both  in  the  subject  and  the  style,  and  that  it  was 
unworthy  of  publication.    If  there  had  been  a  fire  in  the  room, 
I  should  certainly  have  consigned  my  manuscript  to  instant  de- 
struction.   After  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  however,  I  became 
somewhat  better  reconciled  to  my  work,  when  Merk  informed 
me  that,  in  consequence  of  some  unpleasant  business  that  had 
occurred  to  him,  he  was  in  very  ill  humour  at  the  time  he  called 
on  me,  and  had  scarcely  heard  a  word  I  read  to  him.  The 
cause  of  his  vexation  having  been  in  some  measure  removed, 
he  read  Werther,  and  pronounced  a  favourable  opinion  upon  it. 
He  rejected  the  idea  of  altering  it,  and  desired  that  I  would 
publish  it  in  the  state  in  which  it  was.    I  made  a  fair  copy  of 
my  manuscript,  which  did  not  remain  very  long  in  my  hands  ; 
for  on  the  very  day  on  *  hich  my  sister  was  married  to  George 
Schlosser,  I  received  from  the  bookseller  Weygand  of  Leipsick, 
a  letter  containing  a  proposal  tor  publishing  my  work.    I  re- 
garded this  coincidence  as  a  favourable  augury.    Werther  was 
immediately  sent  off.    I  had  the  additional  satisfaction,  too,  that 
the  profits  of  the  publication  were  not  entirely  absorbed  by  the 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


241 


expenses,  which  was  unfortunately  the  case  when  I  undertook 
to  print  Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen. 

Werther  excited  a  powerful  sensation  :  the  reason  was  mani- 
fest ;  it  appeared  precisely  at  the  right  moment.  The  smallest 
spark  is  sufficient  to  blow  up  a  mine  that  is  ready  laid.  Wer- 
ther was  this  spark.  Every  youthful  mind  was  disordered  by 
extravagant  fancies  and  imaginary  sufferings  ;  and  Werther 
afforded  a  faithful  representation  of  the  general  distemper.  It 
is  vain  to  expect  that  the  public  should  judge  reasonably  and 
coolly  of  a  work  of  imagination.  The  great  mass  of  readers 
formed  the  same  opinion  of  this  romance  as  my  friends  had 
done.  They  considered  it  only  with  reference  to  the  subject  ; 
and  they  were  misled  by  the  old  prejudice  that  an  author  should 
always  have  a  didactic  object  in  view.  They  seemed  to  forget 
that  a  writer  may  describe  incidents  and  sentiments  which  he 
neither  approves  nor  condemns  ;  and  that  in  so  doing  he  merely 
presents  to  his  readers  a  subject  on  which  they  may  exercise 
their  own  reflection  and  judgment. 

I  concerned  myself  very  little  about  what  was  said  of  my 
work.  I  had  fulfilled  my  task,  and  I  left  my  judges  to  pronounce 
what  decision  they  pleased  upon  it.  My  friends,  however,  care- 
fully collected  all  the  articles  that  were  written  upon  Werther  ; 
and  as  they  had  begun  to  conceive  a  more  correct  idea  of  the 
object  of  the  work,  they  amused  themselves  not  a  little  at  the 
expense  of  the  critics.  Nicolai  was  the  first  antagonist  who 
entered  the  lists,  and  his  production,  entitled  the  Joys  of  Werther \ 
was  the  subject  of  many  good  jokes.  Nicolai,  though  actuated 
by  good  intentions,  and  possessed  of  considerable  information, 
set  out  with  a  determination  to  depreciate  every  thing  that  went 
beyond  the  range  of  his  own  ideas,  which  he  seemed  to  regard 
as  the  boundary  of  human  intellect.  He  accordingly  opened 
an  attack  upon  me  ;  and  his  pamphlet  soon  fell  into  my  hands. 
I  was  much  pleased  with  a  charming  vignette  by  Chodowiecki, 
an  artist  for  whom  I  entertained  a  high  esteem.  As  to  the  work 
itself,  it  was  woven  on  those  rough  materials  which  are  rarely 
divested  of  any  of  their  coarseness  by  a  mind  confined  within 
the  circle  of  domestic  life.  Nicolai  seemed  not  to  perceive 
that  Werther's  disease  was  past  all  remedy,  and  that  a  deadly 
canker  had  blighted  the  flower  of  his  youth.  He  was  satisfied 
with  my  narrative  down  to  page  214  ;  but  when  the  unhappy 
victim  of  unconquerable  passion  prepares  for  death,  the  moral 
physician  adroitly  substitutes  for  the  deadly  weapon,  a  pistol 
loaded  with  the  blood  of  a  chicken.  If  the  effect  of  this  inci- 
dent be  revolting,  it  is  at  least  productive  of  no  ill  consequences. 
Charlotte  marries  Werther,  and^he  drama  closes  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  all  parties. 

This  is  all  I  recollect  of  Nicolai's  production  :  I  have  not 
read  it  since  the  period  of  its  publication  ;  but  I  took  out  the 
vignette  to  preserve  it  in  mv  collection  of  favourite  engravings, 

H  h 


U2 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETtlE- 


Wishing  to  take  my  revenge  as  quietly  as  possible,  I  composed 
a  little  satire,  entitled  Nicolai  at  Werther's  tomb,  which  I  did  not 
publish.  On  this  occasion  I  indulged  my  taste  for  dramatic 
composition,  and  I  wrote  a  prose  dialogue  between  Charlotte 
and  Werther,  which  was  allowed  to  possess  considerable  comic 
humour.  Werther  was  made  to  complain  bitterly  that  the 
chicken's  blood  had  been  an  ineffectual  remedy  for  him.  He 
survived,  it  is  true,  but  with  the  loss  of  both  his  eyes.  He  is 
reduced  to  despair  on  finding  himself  the  husband  of  Charlotte, 
while  he  is  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  beholding  her  beauty  ; 
and  he  persuades  himself  that  he  enjoyed  greater  felicity  in  see- 
ing than  in  possessing  her.  Charlotte,  as  may  be  conjectured 
from  the  character  that  is  drawn  of  her,  is  not  very  happy  in 
Ihe  society  of  a  blind  husband.  In  this  state  of  things,  violent 
reproaches  are  vented  on  Nicolai,  for  his  mania  of  interfering 
m  other  people's  affairs.  A  tone  of  good  humour  pervaded 
the  whole  work.  Nicolai's  presumptuous  and  unsuccessful  at- 
tempts to  handle  subjects  beyond  his  grasp,  were  painted  in  faith- 
ful colours.  This  little  production  vexed  Nicolai  exceedingly  ; 
and  in  spite  of  his  undeniable  merit,  it  deprived  him  of  all  literary 
consideration.  I  never  made  a  fair  copy  of  the  original  manu- 
script, which  was  destroyed  several  years  ago.  I  was  myself 
well  pleased  with  the  production.  The  tragi-comic  situation  of 
the  two  lovers,  augmented  rather  than  abated  the  warmth  and 
purity  of  their  sentiments.  The  utmost  tenderness  of  expres- 
sion prevailed  throughout  the  whole  work  ;  and  even  my  ad- 
versary was  treated  with  gayety,  rather  than  malignity. 

But  the  language  which  I  assigned  to  my  book  was  far  less 
courteous.  It  was  supposed  to  speak  in  the  following  imitation 
of  an  old  ballad  : — 

There's  danger  acre,  yon  coxcomb  cries, 

\Vrhatcare  I  for  his  whim  ; 
None  but  a  fool  deep  water  tries 

Until  he  learn  to  swim. 
What's  this  Berlin  ban  to  me, 

This  puritanic  creed  ? 
He  who  my  meaning-  cannot  see, 

Had  better  learn  to  read. 

Being  prepared  for  all  that  could  be  said  against  Werther,  I 
was  insensible  to  all  these  attacks  ;  but  I  was  far  from  expecting 
an  insupportable  torment,  which  I  experienced  on  the  part  of  indi- 
viduals of  whose  friendly  feelings  I  was  well  assured.  These  per- 
sons never  said  a  word  to  me  on  the  subject  of  my  work,  with- 
out inquiring  what  portion  of  it  was  really  true.  Questions 
of  this  kind  perpetually  repeated,  vexed  me  and  threw  me  into 
fits  of  ill  humour  and  impatience.  To  satisfy  this  importunity, 
1  must  have  disconnected  and  separated  the  elements  of  a  work 
which  I  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  combine  in  poetic  unity. 

But  when  I  came  to  reflect  on  the  subject.  I  could  not  tax 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE. 


243 


the  public  with  unreasonable  curiosity.  Jerusalem's  death  had 
excited  an  extraordinary  sensation.  A  young*  man  of  good 
education  and  irreproachable  conduct,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
health  and  competency,  the  son  of  one  of  the  first  theologists  and 
best  writers  of  Germany,  unexpectedly  deprived  himself  of  life, 
without  any  cause  being  at  first  assigned  for  the  desperate  act. 
But  as  soon  as  it  came  to  be  known  that  he  was,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  victim  of  an  unfortunate  attachment  ;  and  on  the 
other,  that  he  had  experienced  vexations  from  individuals 
in  the  upper  ranks  of  life,  the  youth  of  both  sexes  and  the 
middle  ranks  evinced  the  utmost  sympathy  for  him,  and  all 
were  interested  in  hearing  every  circumstance  connected  with 
the  unhappy  victim.  Werther  appeared,  and  presented  details 
which  were  supposed  to  portray  the  habits  and  feelings  of 
young  Jerusalem.  Local  circumstances,  personal  qualities,  ail 
were  similar.  The  picture  was  true  to  nature,  and  therefore 
all,  at  first  glance,  imagined  they  could  recognise  the  likeness, 
and  congratulated  themselves  on  the  discovery  of  the  origi- 
nal. But  on  a  further  examination,  many  points  of  resem- 
blance vanished  ;  and  doubts  arose  in  proportion  as  efforts 
were  made  to  discover  the  truth.  Attention  was  thus  diverted 
far  from  the  true  object.  How,  indeed,  was  it  possible  to  re- 
cognise traits  which  I  had  copied  from  the  history  of  my  own 
life,  and  my  own  personal  feelings  ?  I  had  excited  no  interest 
in  my  youth,  and  my  conduct,  though  not  veiled  in  obscurity, 
had  never  been  the  subject  of  attention. 

While  I  was  engaged  on  my  romance,  I  could  not  help  recol- 
lecting the  happy  idea  of  that  artist  of  antiquity  who  com- 
posed his  Venus  from  the  combined  charms  of  a  multitude 
of  beautiful  models.  I  followed  this  example  in  painting  the 
portrait  of  Charlotte,  on  whom  I  bestowed  the  qualities  of 
several  lovely  women,  still  preserving  the  characteristic  traits 
of  her  who  was  loveliest  of  all.  The  public  soon  detected  re- 
semblances, and  no  lady  had  any  objection  to  be  considered  as 
the  original  of  the  picture.  These  numberless  Charlottes  an- 
noyed me  exceedingly  ;  for  every  body  \  met  wished  to  know 
positively  who  the  real  one  was.  Like  Nathan,  with  his  story 
of  the  three  rings,*  I  generally  tried  to  escape  by  help  of  an 

*  In  Lessing's  drama,  entitled  Nathan  (he  Wise,  the  Sultan  Saladin  asks  Nathan 
which  is  the  true  faith,  the  Mahometan,  the  Jewish,  or  the  Christian  ?  Nathan 
replies  by  the  apologue  of  the  three  rings  which  Lessing has  borrowed  from  Boc- 
caccio's D ecameron.  A  man  in  the  east  was  possessed  of  a  magnificent  ring, 
which  had  the  secret  power  of  rendering  beloved  by  God  and  man,  the  individual 
who  wore  it  with  the  firm  conviction  of  its  virtue.  The  man  bequeathed  it  to 
his  best-beloved  son.  After  being  transmitted  from  generation  to  generation,  one 
of  the  descendants  of  the  original  possessor,  who  was  the  father  of  three  sons  all 
equally  dear  to  him,  not  knowing  how  to  decide  between  them,  had  two  rings 
made,  so  exactiy  similar  to  the  real  one,  that  he  could  not  himself  distinguish  the 
slightest  difference.  At  his  death,  each  of  his  sons  received  one  of  the  rings  with 
his  blessing. 

A  dispute  nfterward  aro?e  between  them,  respecting  the  ris;ht  of  primosrem- 


U4 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOKTHE. 


evasion  ;  but  this  stratagem  succeeded  only  with  beings  of  a 
superior  order,  and  would  not  satisfy  either  the  vulgar  or  the 
enlightened  portion  of  the  public.  However,  I  consoled  my- 
self with  the  hope  of  being  speedily  released  from  these  vexa- 
tious inquiries  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  they  have  pursued  me 
throughout  the  whole  of  my  life.  I  determined  to  travel  incog- 
nito; but  unforeseen  circumstances  deprived  me  even  of  this  last 
resource.  If  Werther  really  even  possessed  the  faults  and  the 
dangerous  tendency  attributed  to  it,  its  author  was  sufficiently, 
nay,  beyond  measure,  punished  by  the  persecutions  to  which 
he  was  exposed  by  the  publication  of  the  work. 

I  now  learned  by  experience  that  authors  and  the  public  are 
separated  by  a  deep  abyss,  of  which,  happily,  neither  the  one 
party  nor  the  other  form  any  idea.  I  had  long  been  convinced 
of  the  inutility  of  prefaces  ;  for  the  more  an  author  seeks  to 
develope  his  intentions,  the  greater  confusion  he  creates  in  the 
minds  of  his  readers.  Whatever  reserve  he  may  evince,  the 
public  will  not  the  less  persist  in  requiring  every  particular  which 
he  has  shown  a  wish  to  withhold.  I  also  had  the  opportunity 
of  observing  an  analogous  singularity  on  the  part  of  readers, 
which  approaches  to  the  ridiculous,  when  they  are  induced  to 
record  their  opinions  in  print.  -  It  is  supposed  that  a  man  who 
publishes  a  work,  becomes  by  that  very  act  a  debtor  to  the 
public,  and  he  never  can  do  enough  to  satisfy  what  is  expected 
of  him,  though  before  the  appearance  of  the  work,  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  a  production  was  never  dreamed  of.  But  the 
best  or  the  worst  of  the  matter,  as  regarded  myself,  was,  that 
every  one  wished  to  become  acquainted  with  a  young  author 
who  had  appeared  so  boldly  and  unexpectedly  on  the  lite- 
rary horizon.  All  were  eager  to  gain  an  introduction  to  him, 
and  those  who  lived  at  a  distance  from  him  were  not  the  least 
curious.  He  thus  found  himself  the  object  of  interest,  which, 
though  sometimes  agreeable,  was  often  annoying  and  always 
fatal  to  the  useful  employment  of  his  time.  Though  he  had 
planned  tasks  which  would  have  occupied  years  in  the  execu- 
tion, yet  he  could  not  enter  upon  them  with  his  wonted  zeal. 

He  was  dragged  from  the  bosom  of  quiet  and  retirement — 
those  true  elements  of  mental  creation,  into  the  noisy  sphere 
of  society,  where  favour  or  cold  indifference,  praise  or  censure, 
tend  alike  to  mislead.  These  external  influences  are  seldom  in 
unison  with  our  internal  dispositions,  and  if  they  do  not  present 
advantages,  they  fail  not  to  prove  prejudicial. 

But  that  which  chiefly  contributed  to  divert  my  attention  from 

torship  attached  to  the  possession  of  the  privileged  ring.  The  judge  to  whom 
they  appealed,  declared  that  the  precautions  adopted  by  the  father  to  prevent 
them  from  distinguishing  the  real  ring,  rendered  any  decision  impossible.  The 
father's  object  had  been  to  .secure  equal  rights  to  his  three  sons  ;  and  it  was  their 
duty  to  vie  with  each  other  in  fraternal  allcction  and  virtue,  to  prove  in  them- 
selves or  in  their  descendants,  the  mysterious  virtue  attached  to  the  real  ring- 
leaving  the.  decision  to  posterity  and  supreme  wisdom. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOËTHK. 


245 


more  important  works,  was  the  amusement  which  my  friends 
and  I  derived  from  our  practice  of  dramatizing  all  that  seemed 
worthy  of  attention.  To  explain  what  is  meant  by  this  appli- 
cation of  dramatic  composition,  I  must  mention  that,  in  order 
to  enliven  our  literary  parties,  we  were  in  the  habit  of  separating-, 
as  it  were,  the  materials  which  we  had  collected  for  works  on 
a  more  extended  scale.  A  simple  incident,  a  trait  of  naïveté  or 
awkwardness,  an  equivoque,  a  singular  idea,  a  curious  remark, 
the  originality  or  whims  of  an  individual,  even  an  attitude  or  an 
expressive  gesture, — in  short  every  thing  that  attracted  obser- 
vation in  our  intercourse  with  society,  furnished  us  with  the  sub- 
ject of  a  dialogue  or  a  dramatic  scene,  either  in  verse  or  prose. 

These  little  compositions,  these  inspirations  of  gayety  or 
sentiment,  by  exercising  our  fancy  strengthened  our  taste  for 
this  style  of  poetic  imitation.  We  endeavoured  to  seize  objects, 
events,  and  individuals,  and  to  embue  them  with  a  vivid  colour- 
ing, at  the  same  time  preserving  their  characteristic  features. 
We  wished,  as  it  were,  to  embody  every  sentiment  and  pecu- 
liarity, and  to  exhibit  it  in  a  living  form  to  the  eyes  of  the  spec- 
tator. These  poetic  fancies  might  have  been  denominated  epi- 
grams in  action.  We  sought  to  smooth  away  all  sharpness  and 
asperity,  while  every  characteristic  point  was  marked  in  the 
most  decided  way.  My  little  piece,  entitled  the  Festival  of  the 
Fair,  is  an  epigram,  or  rather  a  collection  of  epigrams,  of 
this  kind.  The  characters  there  introduced  really  represented 
various  members  of  our  literary  circle  ;  or,  at  least,  individuals 
connected  with  it.  The  solution  of  the  enigma  was  a  secret  to 
most  of  the  spectators,  and  those  who  laughed  most,  little  sus- 
pected that  others  wrere  amusing  themselves  at  their  expense. 
My  Prologue  to  the  New  Vision  of  Bahrdl,  is  a  production  of  a 
different  kind  It  served  as  a  model  for  some  of  my  fugitive 
pieces,  of  which  many  are  lost,  and  some  among  those  I  have 
preserved,  are  not  of  a  nature  to  admit  of  publication.  Those 
which  were  printed,  at  the  period  of  their  production,  excited 
interest,  and  augmented  the  curiosity  which  was  felt  lor  the 
author.  Others,  which  were  circulated  in  manuscript,  served 
for  the  amusement  of  my  friends,  whose  numbers  were  increa- 
sing. I  received  a  visit  from  Doctor  Bahrdt,  who  then  resided 
at  Giessen.  His  behaviour  was  frank  and  polite.  He  himself 
laughed  at  my  prologue,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  maintain  a 
a  friendly  intercourse  with  me.  In  the  mean  while  my  friends 
and  I  stili  continued  to  make  merry  at  the  expense  of  other- 
people's-  oddities. 

To  excite  the  surprise  which  usually  attends  the  appearance 
of  a  literary  meteor,  could  not  but  flatter  the  vanity  of  a  youn^- 
author.  I  took  pleasure  in  testifying  my  esteem  for  those  of 
my  countrymen  whose  merit  had  been  crowned  by  Fame  ; 
among  whom,  I  may  assign  the  hrst  rank  to  the  celebrated  Jus- 
tus Moeser.    This  highly  gifted  man  had  for  some  time  been 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


publishing  in  the  Osnabruck  Journal,  his  reflections  on  civil 
law.  Herder,  who  never  failed  to  observe  all  that  was  worthy  of 
attention,  pointed  out  these  articles  to  me.  Madame  Voigt, 
Moeser's  daughter,  was  engaged  in  putting  them  together  in  a 
combined  form,  and  their  publication  was  eagerly  looked  for. 
I  opened  a  correspondence  with  Madame  Voigt,  by  expressing 
my  sincere  esteem  for  her  father's  writings,  and  assuring  her  that 
his  essays,  though  originally  intended  for  a  limited  circle,  were 
entitled  to  rank  among  works  of  general  utility,  both  on  account 
of  the  importance  of  the  subject,  and  the  talent  with  which  it 
was  treated.  This  declaration  coming  from  one  who  was  a 
stranger  to  them,  and  whose  name  was  not  altogether  unknown, 
was  received  with  pleasure  both  by  the  father  and  daughter, 
and  helped  to  banish  some  doubts  which  Madame  Voigt  enter- 
tained respecting  the  publication. 

Moeser's  Patriotic  Fancies  present,  indeed,  a  complete  picture 
of  social  life.  They  show  how  a  constitution  that  has  its  root 
in  past  ages,  preserves,  daring  the  present  time,  its  existence  and 
its  energy  ;  how  mankind  adhere  as  much  as  possible  to  ancient 
customs,  without  being  able  to  impede  the  course  of  events, 
or  the  changes  produced  by  time  ;  how  some  take  the  alarm 
at  every  useful  innovation,  while  others  are  ready  to  grasp  any 
thing  new,  without  considering  whether  it  be  useless  or  even 
dangerous. 

Voeser  knew  that  public  institutions  have  their  basis  in  the 
family  system  ;  and  therefore  it  was  to  the  latter  object  that  he 
particularly  directed  his  attention.  He  points  out  the  changes 
that  have  taken  place  in  manners,  customs,  education,  dress, 
diet,  and  domestic  habits.  He  embraces  every  thing,  and  is 
always  careful  to  avoid  the  monotonous  pedantry  of  the  didac- 
tic style,  and  to  vary  the  forms  which  he  employs.  Whether 
he  speaks  in  his  own  name,  or  conceals  himself  beneath  a  bor- 
rowed mask,  he  is  always  master  of  his  subject,  always  profound, 
without  relinquishing  his  gayety  or  the  charm  of  delicate  raillery. 
Even  when  he  is  harsh  and  vehement,  these  qualities  are  always 
tempered  by  just  discretion;  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire 
the  talent,  the  judgment,  the  facility,  the  taste,  and  the  charac- 
ter, of  the  writer.  In  his  choice  of  subjects  of  general  utility, 
the  depth  of  his  views,  the  correctness  of  his  observations,  his 
happy  fancy  and  good  humour,  Franklin  appears  to  me  to  be 
the  only  writer  with  whom  Moeser  can  be  compared. 

A  man  of  this  stamp  could  not  but  inspire  us  with  profound 
respect.  His  influence  over  young  men  who  knew  how  to  di,;  ■ 
tinguish  and  appreciate  solid  merit,  was  of  course  very  exten- 
sive. To  seize  the  mere  form  of  his  compositions  did  not  ap- 
pear to  be  so  very  difficult  ;  but  how  could  we  hope  to  gain  hi  ; 
fertile  resources,  or  to  treat  with  his  charming  freedom  subjects 
which  seemed  obstinately  to  reject  such  a  style. 

But  the  most  pleasing  illusion  in  life,  and  that  which  we  find 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


247 


it  impossible  to  renounce,  in  spite  of  the  painful  feelings  to 
which  it  gives  rise,  is  the  hope  of  attaining,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  qualities  which  we  most  esteem  in  others,  and  reproducing 
them  in  ourselves. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Amidst  the  interest  with  which  my  first  essays  were  re- 
ceived by  the  public,  the  persons  by  whom  I  was  more  immedi- 
ately surrounded  evinced  a  degree  of  zeal  which  was,  perhaps, 
even  more  gratifying  to  me .  My  old  friends  had  been  acquainted 
with  the  manuscripts  of  those  compositions  which  now  excited 
such  a  sensation  ;  they  looked  upon  them  in  some  degree  as 
their  own,  and  the  success  which  they  had,  perhaps,  rash)}  pre- 
dicted, was  to  them  a  subject  of  triumph.  This  friendly  cir- 
cle was  increased  by  the  addition  of  new  proselytes,  at  the  head 
of  whom  I  distinguished  men,  who  themselves  possessed  crea- 
tive talent,  or  who  were  eager  to  kindle  and  to  cherish  it. 

Among  them  Lenz  was  the  most  remarkable  for  originality. 
No  writer  was  ever  possessed  of  more  striking  singularities. 
It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  he  was  gifted  with  talent  of  the 
highest  order.  Inexhaustible  fertility  of  imagination,  delicacy, 
facility,  acuteness,  and  even  profoundness  ;  all  seemed  to  be  em- 
braced in  the  extended  circle  of  his  qualifications.  Yet,  though 
we  cannot  help  admiring  this  extraordinary  combination,  the 
satisfaction  it  affords  is  still  far  from  complete.  Talents  of 
this  kind  are  the  most  difficult  to  appreciate.  His  composi- 
tions sparkle  with  brilliant  touches  ;  but  the  purest  and  most 
delicate  inspirations  are  mingled  with  such  strange  conceits 
and  extravagancies,  as  would  scarely  be  pardonable  even  in  the 
most  unrestrained  effusions  of  comic  humour.  He  spent  his 
time  in  the  production  of  trifles,  which  nothing  but  the  vivacity 
of  his  genius  could  render  tolerable.  But  his  excellent  me- 
mory, which  retained  a  vast  portion  of  what  he  read,  and  thus 
furnished  ample  materials  for  his  original  powers,  enabled  him 
to  throw  away  a  great  deal  of  his  time  with  impunity. 

Lenz  shared,  and  even  carried  to  excess,  that  restlessness  of 
spirit  that  leads  the  thinking  man  to  dwell  on  internal  disquiet- 
udes, which  have  but  a  transitory  existence  in  unreflecting  minds. 
Persons  labouring  under  this  state  of  feeling,  are  usually  most 
rig  >rous  with  respect  to  morality,  both  in  themselves  and  others, 
while  they  nicinifest  the  most  complete  disregard  of  the  prac- 
tical conduct  of  life.  A  peculiar  trait  which  distinguished 
Lenz,  was  his  decided  taste  for  intrigue  ;  but  for  intrigue  in  itself, 
unconnected  with  the  hope  of  deriving  any  personal  advantage 
from  it.    He  endeavoured  to  embody  and  give  consistence  to 


248 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


the  ridiculous  phantoms  of  his  imagination.  Thus,  even  his 
wickedness  was  ideal,  and  his  affection,  like  his  hatred,  was  di- 
rected only  to  chimerical  objects.  His  sentiments  and  ideas, 
though  arising  purely  from  the  caprice  of  his  imagination,  ne- 
vertheless served  as  stimulants  to  his  activity.  But  his  friend- 
ship was  never  useful,  nor  his  hatred  injurious  ;  and  he  did  no 
harm  to  any  one  but  himself. 

.  Lenz  had  been  chosen  as  tutor  to  two  young  gentlemen  of 
Livonia,  whom  he  accompanied  to  Strasburgh.  A  more  unfor- 
tunate selection  could  scarcely  have  been  made.  The  eldest  of 
the  two  young  men,  being  under  the  necessity  of  returning  home, 
separated  with  regret  from  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  was  pas- 
sionately attached  In  order  to  banish  rivals,  and  preserve  the 
lady's  heart  for  his  absent  pupil,  Lenz  conceived  the  idea  of 
acting  the  part  of  lover  himself.  He  immediately  put  his  plan 
into  execution,  and  carried  it  on  perseveringly,  without  ever 
perceiving  that  the  fair  one  was  only  laughing  at  his  expense. 

While-at  Strasburgh  with  his  pupils,  Lenz  spent  a  areat  por- 
tion of  his  time  in  the  society  of  the  officers  of  the  garrison  ; 
and  there  he,  no  doubt,  collected  the  comic  traits  which  he  af- 
terwards introduced  into  his  drama,  entitled  .The  Soldiers.  He 
fancied  he  had  acquired  a  great  know  ledge  of  the  military  art, 
of  which  he  had  indeed  really  studied  the  details  :  and  he  ac- 
cordingly took  it  into  his  head  some  years  afterwards  to  draw 
up  a  memorial  for  the  French  minister  of  war.  This,  he  hoped, 
would  be  attended  with  the  most  advantageous  results  ;  but 
though  his  memorial  developed  the  vices  of  the  system  pursued 
in  France,  the  means  proposed  as  a  cure  for  the  evil  were  per- 
fectly absurd  and  impracticable.  Lenz,  however,  flattered  him- 
self that  he  should  acquire  great  influence  at  the  court  of  Ver- 
sailles ;  and  he  w^as  not  very  grateful  to  his  friends  who  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  burn  the  memorial  instead  of  fonvarding  it  to 
its  intended  destination. 

Immediately  after  the  apearance  of  Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen, 
Lenz  addressed  to  me  a  long  essay,  closely  written  on  the  narrow 
slips  of  paper  which  he  w^as  in  the  habit  of  using.  It  was  en- 
titled, On  our  Marriage  ;  and  its  object  was  to  compare  his 
talents  with  mine  ;  sometimes  attributing  the  superiority  to  me, 
and  sometimes  placing  us  both  on  the  same  level.  This  pa- 
rallel was  maintained  in  so  humorous  and  agreeable  a  style,  that 
I  could  not  help  entering  heartily  into  the  views  of  the  author, 
for  whose  powers  of  mind  I  entertaine  d  the  highest  esteem,  and 
only  regretted  to  see  them  employed  m  so  fantastic  and  irregular 
a  way.  I  replied  by  testimonies  of  friendly  confidence  ;  and 
as  he  invited  me  to  a  union  of  labour,  I  communicated  to  him 
all  my  works,  those  that  I  had  finished,  as  well  as  those  that  I 
had  in  contemplation.  In  return  he  sent  me  his  manuscripts, 
one  after  another.  They  consisted  of  The  Governor,  The  JV* ew 
Menoza.  The  Soldiers,  and  his  translation  of  Shakspeare**  Love's 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


Labour  Lost,  which  he  published  at  the  end  of  his  Remarks  on 
the  drama. 

This  last  production  was  directed  against  the  regular  drama. 
In  a  brief  introduction,  the  author  affirmed  that  he  had  read  it 
some  years  ago,  to  a  society  of  literary  men,  before  the  appear- 
ance of  Goëtz  Von  Berlichingen.  I  could  scarcely  credit  that 
there  had  existed  at  Strasburgh  a  literary  society,  with  whom 
Lenz  had  maintained  correspondence  without  my  knowledge. 
However,  I  did  not  contradict  the  assertion,  and  I  soon  furnish- 
ed him  with  an  editor  for  this  as  well  as  his  other  compositions, 
without  ever  suspecting  that  he  had  chosen  me  as  the  object  of 
his  fantastic  hatred,  his  extravagant  and  capricious  persecution. 

I  may  mention  Wagner  as  one  of  the  individuals  with  whom 
I  was  on  terms  of  intimacy.  He  formed  a  member  of  our  so- 
ciety, first  at  Strasburgh,  and  afterwards  at  Frankfort.  With- 
out being  endowed  with  any  extraordinary  qualities,  he  was  not 
deficient  either  in  talent  or  information.  We  received  him  as 
an  adept.  He  showed  a  regard  for  me,  and  as  I  had  nothing  to 
conceal,  I  communicated  to  him  the  plan  of  my  Faust,  and  de- 
scribed the  catastrophe  of  Margaret.  He  thought  the  subject 
so  interesting,  that  he  adopted  it  in  the  composition  of  a  tragedy 
which  he  entitled  the  Infanticide.  I  had  never  before  been  thus 
robbed  of  my  ideas  before  they  reached  maturity.  I  was 
vexed  at  the  circumstance,  but  without  cherishing  any  animosity 
against  Wagner.  Misfortunes  of  this  kind  have  since  often 
occurred  to  me;  but  I  can  only  blame  my  own  dilatoriness 
and  my  too  great  readiness  to  place  confidence  in  others. 

The  powerful  effect  of  contrasts  both  in  speaking  and  writing" 
is  universally  admired.  I  may,  therefore,  esteem  myself  happy  in 
having  to  speak  of  Kiinger,  after  describing  Lenz  ;  for  never  was 
there  a  more  striking  opposition  than  that  which  the  characters 
of  these  two  men  presents.  They  were  cotemporaries  and 
competitors  one  with  the  other;  but  Lenz,  like  a  transient  me- 
teor, shone  only  for  a  moment  on  the  literary  horizon,  and  disap- 
peared, leaving  behind  no  trace  of  his  brilliancy  ;  while  Kiinger, 
on  the  contrary,  has  maintained  down  to  the  present  time,  his 
twofold  reputation  of  a  distinguished  writer,  and  an  active  man 
of  business. 

I  love  to  begin  by  describing  the  personal  appearance  of  the 
individuals  whom  I  have  occasion  to  notice.  Kiinger  wras  a  man 
of  pleasing  exterior  ;  he  was  tall,  slender,  and  well  made,  and 
his  features  were  regular.  He  was  attentive  to  his  dress  and 
personal  appearance,  and  upon  the  whole,  was  looked  upon  as 
the  most  agreeable  and  elegant  member  of  our  literary  circle. 
His  manners  were  neither  prepossessing  nor  repulsive,  and  his 
temper  was  calm  and  placid,  when  not  influenced  by  any  par- 
ticular passion. 

We  admire  a  young  woman  for  the  charms  which  she  pos* 

ti 


'250 


3IEAI0IRS  OF  GOETHE* 


sesses,  and  a  young  man  for  the  qualities  for  which  he  affords 
rhe  promise.  I  became  attached  to  Klinger  as  soon  as  I  knew 
him.  His  purity  of  sentiment  and  firmness  of  character  inspired 
me  with  confidence.  The  circumstances  in  which  he  had  been 
placed,  had  from  his  earliest  youth  inspired  him  with  a  serious 
turn.  He  and  his  sister,  a  beautiful  and  amiable  young  woman, 
were  the  only  support  of  their  widowed  mother.  For  all  his 
acquisitions,  he  had  been  indebted  solely  to  his  own  exertions. 
Was  it  therefore  surprising  that  he  should  be  distinguished 
for  an  air  of  proud  independence  ?  He  possessed,  in  a  high 
degree,  the  natural  gifts  of  prompt  intelligence,  and  excel- 
lent memory,  combined  with  the  power  of  expressing  himself 
with  ease  and  fluency.  But  the  qualities  to  which  he  himself 
attached  the  highest  value,  were  his  firmness  and  perseverance, 
virtues  which  indeed  were  natural  to  him,  but  which  were 
strengthened  by  the  circumstances  in  which  he  had  been  placed. 

The  writings  of  Rousseau  could  not  fail  to  produce  a  favour- 
able impression  on  a  young  man  of  this  character.  Emile  was 
his  favourite  work.  The  doctrine  of  the  Citizen  of  Geneva, 
which  made  so  many  proselytes,  had  not  a  more  ardent  admirer 
than  Klinger,  who  was  himself  a  child  of  Nature.  Having  been 
born  in  an  humble  sphere,  he  had  not  to  shake  off  the  prejudices 
and  trammels  of  wealth,  against  the  baneful  influence  of  which 
it  is  often  so  difficult  to  contend.  He  was,  therefore,  a  sincere 
disciple  of  that  gospel  of  nature  preached  by  Rousseau. 
Klinger's  conduct  as  a  man  and  as  a  model  of  filial  piety,  entitled 
him  to  repeat  the  adage  : — "All  things  are  good  as  they  come 
from  the  hands  of  nature."  But  sad  experience  had  also  con- 
vinced him  of  the  truth  of  the  remark  afterward  made  by  Jean 
Jacques — "  Every  thing  degenerates  in  the  hands  of  man  !"  He 
had  not  to  contend  against  himself,  but  against  the  habits  of  so- 
ciety, from  the  yoke  of  which  Rousseau  endeavoured  to  emanci- 
pate us.  This  violent  and  painful  struggle  forced  Klinger  to  with- 
draw within  himself,  and  afforded  no  room  in  his  cultivated  mind 
for  gayety  and  serenity.  What  efforts  would  it  not  have  cost 
him  to  break  through  the  feelings  by  which  he  was  possessed  ? 
Thus,  though  traits  of  spleen  occasionally  escaped  him,  yet,  in 
general,  he  possessed  the  art  of  commanding  his  temper.  His 
works,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  bear  evidence  of  a  powerful 
understanding,  correct  judgment,  and  lively  imagination,  aided 
by  the  talent  of  observing  the  varied  recesses  of  the  human 
heart,  and  marking  original  shades  of  character.  He  painted 
children  candid  and  amiable,  young  men  brilliant,  and  those  of 
maturer  years  polished  and  sensible.  His  caricatures  are  not 
too  far  exaggerated.  His  writings  are  not  deficient  in  gayety 
or  good  humour  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  are  distinguished  for  wit 
and  happy  sallies,  and  are  fertile  in  metaphor  and  allegory.  In 
short,  they  would  leave  nothing  to  be  desired,  were  it  not  that 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOiiTHL. 


the  effect  of  agreeable  irony  is  sometimes  destroyed  by  a  tone 
of  bitterness  and  chagrin. 

That  firmness  which  is  the  result  of  solidity  of  character,  is 
the  more  estimable,  when  it  is  developed  in  active  life,  and  in 
the  business  of  the  world.  We  cannot  but  respect  the  man 
who  energetically  employs  the  means  best  calculated  to  secure 
any  desirable  object,  even  though  those  means  should  have  the 
appearance  of  harshness  or  violence.  Such  a  man  was  Klin- 
ger.  Flexibility  was  never  the  favourite  virtue  of  the  German, 
born  a  citizen  of  the  empire  ;  nor  was  it  so  with  him  of  whom  I 
am  now  speaking.  Firmness,  uprightness,  and  solid  under- 
standing, were  the  qualities  which  first  raised  him  to  an  impor- 
tant post,  and  then  enabled  him  to  fill  it  honourably,  and  to  en- 
joy the  favour  and  support  of  his  patrons.  He  was  always 
faithful  to  his  early  friends,  and  never  forgot  the  condition 
whence  he  had  sprung,  of  which  indeed  he  was  so  eager  to 
perpetuate  the  recollection,  that  he  even  adorned  his  coat  of 
arms  with  memorials  of  his  advancement. 

Shortly  afterward  I  became  acquainted  with  Lavater.  His 
Letter  from  a  Pastor  to  one  of  his  Colleagues,  had  about  this  time 
created  a  sensation,  and  his  theory  had  made  many  proselytes. 
Thanks  to  his  unremitting  activity,  our  correspondence  was  not 
suffered  to  relax.  He  was  then  seriously  engaged  upon  his 
great  work  on  physiognomy,  the  introduction  to  which  had 
already  been  favourably  received  by  the  public.  He  was  ap- 
plying to  all  his  friends  for  drawings  and  sketches,  particularly 
for  portraits  of  Christ  :  and  in  spite  of  my  incompetency  for 
such  a  task,  he  insisted  that  I  should  make  him  a  drawing  ac- 
cording to  my  notion  of  the  Saviour's  countenance.  This  was 
indeed  requiring  an  impossibility,  and  I  could  not  but  laugh  at 
the  idea.  However,  I  found  it  impossible  to  satisfy  Lavater. 
except  by  compliance  with  his  whimsical  demand. 

The  science  of  physiognomy  met  with  many  skeptics,  or  half- 
believers,  who  regarded  it  as  uncertain  or  illusive.  Even  the 
partisans  of  Lavater  took  pleasure  inputting  his  skill  to  the  test, 
and  with  this  intention  they  sometimes  practised  deceptions 
upon  him.  He  had  commissioned  a  skilful  painter  of  Frankfort 
to  furnish  him  with  the  profiles  of  several  well-known  indivi- 
duals. Among  the  rest  was  a  portrait  of  Bahrdt,  which,  for 
the  sake  of  a  joke  was  packed  up,  and  addressed  to  Lavater  as 
mine.  The  consequence  was  a  thundering  letter  from  the 
Doctor.  Lavater  vehemently  protested  against  the  trick,  add- 
ing all  that  the  circumstance  could  suggest  to  him  in  favour  of 
his  doctrine.  My  portrait  was  afterward  sent  to  him,  but  he  was, 
according  to  custom,  dissatisfied  both  with  the  painter  and  the 
subject.  He  always  asserted  that  the  artist  was  never  correct 
and  faithful.  As  to  the  originals  of  portraits,  they  never  per* 
fectly  fulfilled  the  idea  he  had  formed  of  them.    He  was*  always 


2à£  MEMOIRS  OF  CrOËTHE. 

somewhat  vexed  when  the  individual  departed  from  his  imagi- 
nary model,  by  the  peculiar  traits  which  constitute  personality. 

The  idea  which  Lavater  had  conceived  of  man  was  so  closely 
in  unison  with  the  image  of  Christ  which  was  impressed  upon 
his  mind,  that  he  was  unable  to  imagine  how  any  one  could  live 
and  breathe  without  being  a  Christian.  As  to  me,  the  Christian 
religion  appealed  to  my  mind  and  my  heart,  but  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  comprehend  the  mysterious  physical  affinity  with  Christ, 
on  which  Lavater  so  pertinaciously  insisted.  He  absolutely 
tormented  Mendelssohn,  me,  and  others.  He  wished  us  to  be 
Christians,  and  Christians  after  his  manner  ;  or  that  we  should 
convince  him  of  the  truth  of  our  creeds.  This  ardent  prose- 
lytism  irritated  me.  I  could  scarcely  have  supposed  that  a  man 
like  Lavater  would  have  cherished  such  a  spirit.  It  was  in  di- 
rect opposition  to  the  religious  toleration  which  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  profess.  Lavater's  importunities  served  only  to 
confirm  me  in  my  own  opinions  ;  which  is  generally  the  case 
with  all  whose  conversion  is  attempted  in  vain.  At  length, 
however,  he  pressed  me  with  the  terrible  dilemma,  that  I  must 
be  either  a  Christian  or  an  atheist  ;  and  I  then  declared  that  if 
he  would  not  leave  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  Christian  faith, 
which  I  had  formed  for  myself,  I  should  not  have  much  hesita- 
tion in  deciding  for  wThat  he  termed  atheism  ;  though  I  was 
nevertheless  well  convinced  that  nobody  kne  v  to  which  creed 
either  the  one  term  or  the  other  was  precisely  applicable. 

These   discussions,   though  maintained  writh  considerable 
warmth,  did  not  abate  our  friendship.    Lavater  possessed  admi- 
rable patience  and  perseverance.    Convinced  of  the  truth  of 
his  doctrine,  he  determined  to  propagate  it,  and  he  hoped  that 
time  and  persuasion  would  effect  what  the  force  of  his  arguments 
had  failed  to  produce.    He  was  one  of  those  few  happy  beings 
whose  worldly  vocations  are  in  perfect  unison  with  their  ideas 
and  wishes  ;  and  whose  first  education,  being  in  relation  with  that 
which  they  derive  from  experience,  fully  developes  their  li- 
ra! faculties.    He  was  endowed  by  nature  with  the  most  deli- 
cate moral  sentiment,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  ecclesiastical 
profession,  for  which  he  was  prepared  by  an  adequate  course  of 
study,  though  his  attainments  did  not  entitle  him  to  be  ranked 
among  distinguished  scholars.    Though  older  than  I  and  the 
rest  of  my  literary  friends,  the  voice  of  nature  and  liberty,  which 
resounded  so  agreeably  in  our  ears,  had  also  made  an  impres- 
sion on  him.    All  felt  that  they  possessed  sufficient  resources 
within  themselves,  and  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  call  them 
freely  into  action.    The  daily  duty  of  an  ecclesiastic,  to  incul- 
cate moral  principle  and  religious  sentiment,  w7as  to  Lavater  a 
mission  of  the  highest  order.    These  functions  were  precisely 
suited  to  his  character.    To  inspire  others  writh  the  sentiments 
of  virtue  and  piety,  by  which  he  was  himself  animated,  was  his 
most  ardent  wish  ;  and  to  observe  himself  and  others  was  his 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


favourite  occupation.  The  purity  and  delicacy  of  his  own  feel- 
ings rendered  the  first  task  easy  ;  while  his  judgment  and  pene- 
tration were  not  less  favourable  to  the  second.  He  was  not 
born  for  contemplation,  nor  had  he  any  inclination  for  poetry. 
His  powers  were  naturally  suited  to  an  active  life  ;  and  i  never 
knew  a  man  more  distinguished  for  unremitting  exertion.  But 
our  moral  internal  being  is  in  some  measure  incorporated  with 
our  external  relations.  We  are  members  of  a  family,  a  class,  a 
society,  a  city,  or  a  state.  It  was  requisite  that  Lavater  should 
come  in  contact  with  these  external  objects  before  he  could 
impart  an  impulse  to  them;  and  this  could  not  be  done  without 
encountering  obstacles  and  difficulties,  particularly  in  a  republic 
like  that  in  which  he  was  born,  and  which,  within  the  limits 
traced  by  its  situation  and  laws,  enjoyed  a  commendable  degree 
of  freedom,  cemented  by  time.  From  his  boyhood  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  reflect  on  the  public  interests,  and  to  make 
them  the  subject  of  his  conversation.  In  the  flower  of  his  age 
the  young  republican  found  himself,  as  a  member  of  the  com- 
munity, empowered  to  give  or  to  withhold  his  suffrage.  Anxious 
to  judge  for  himself,  and  to  judge  correctly  of  the  merits  of  his 
fellow-citizens,  he  sought  to  make  himself  acquainted  with  their 
sentiments  and  faculties  ;  and  by  thus  investigating  the  charac- 
ters of  others  he  learned  to  examine  his  own. 

Such  were  the  circumstances  which  extended  their  influence 
over  Lavater  at  an  early  period  of  his  life.  He  applied  himself 
to  the  active  duties  of  life  rather  than  to  the  attainment  of  learn- 
ing. He  neglected  the  study  of  languages,  and  the  analytical 
criticism  inseparable  from  that  study,  of  which  analysis  is  at 
once  the  means  and  the  object.  When,  however,  the  circle  of 
his  information  and  his  views  became  infinitely  extended,  he 
often  acknowledged  both  seriously  and  jokingly  that  he  was  no 
scholar.  To  this  want  of  profound  study  must  be  attributed  his 
firm  adherence  to  the  letter,  nay,  even  to  the  translation  of  the 
Bible  ;  which,  after  all,  afforded  both  foundation  and  means 
sufficient  for  the  object  he  proposed  to  attain. 

But  the  local  corporation  interests  of  a  small  community  pre- 
sented a  sphere  too  circumscribed  for  the  active  mind  of  La- 
vater. To  act  justly,  was  to  the  young  pastor  an  easy  dutv  : 
injustice  was  a  vice  which  he  abhorred,  and  to  which  his  heart 
was  a  stranger  A  Swiss  magistrate  had  daily  committed  vari- 
ous acts  of  oppression  before  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-citizens  ;  but 
it  was  difficult  to  bring  his  conduct  under  legal  investigation. 
Lavater,  together  with  one  of  his  friends,  threatened  the  offend- 
ing magistrate  with  the  vengeance  of  the  laws.  The  affair 
became  public  ;  legal  proceedings  were,  instituted  against  the 
magistrate,  and  he  suffered  the  penalty  which  his  misconduct 
merited.  However,  the  parties  who  had  instigated  his  punish- 
ment w  ere  censured  5  for,  in  a  free  state,  justice  itself  cannot  be 
administered  by  irregular  mean*. 


MEMOIRS  OP  èOËTHE. 


During  a  visit  which  Lavater  made  to  Germany,  he  formed 
an  acquaintance  with  our  most  distinguished  men  of  learning 
and  talent  ;  but  his  intercourse  with  these  individuals  tended 
only  to  confirm  him  in  his  own  theories.  On  his  return  to  his 
native  country,  he  pursued  his  plans  with  increased  ardour. 
His  noble  and  generous  heart  had  inspired  him  with  an  exalted 
idea  of  human  nature.  All  that  evidently  departed  from  his 
imaginary  model  was,  according  to  his  belief,  destined  to  find  its 
corrective  in  the  sublime  idea  of  the  Deity,  determining  from 
time  to  time  to  endow  man  with  a  portion  of  the  divine  Spirit, 
in  order  to  restore  him  to  his  primitive  purity  and  perfection. 

,  But  I  have  dwelt  long  enough  on  the  peculiarities  which 
marked  the  early  career  of  this  celebrated  man.  I  will  now 
describe  the  curious  circumstances  which  attended  my 
acquaintance  with  him.  From  the  commencement  of  his  corres- 
pondence with  me  and  others,  he  had  signified  his  intention  of 
visiting  Frankfort,  in  the  course  of  a  journey  which  he  proposed 
making  along  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  This  information  excited 
the  highest*  interest.  Every  one  was  curious  to  see  so  remark- 
able a  man.  The  presence  and  conversation  of  such  a  visiter 
was  joyfully  anticipated  by  all  who  took  pleasure  in  discussing 
points  of  morality  and  religion.  The  skeptics  were  already 
prepared  with  their  objections.  Some  were  presumptuous 
enough  to  expect  that  he  would  be  overwhelmed  with  the  weight 
of  their  arguments,  and  confidently  looked  forward  to  their  own 
triumph  and  his  confusion.  In  short,  there  appeared  all  the 
symptoms  of  favour  and  malevolence,  which  a  man  of  superior 
powers  never  fails  to  encounter  amidst  the  mingled  elements  of 
which  this  world  is  composed. 

My  first  interview  with  Lavater  was  of  the  most  cordial  des- 
cription. We  affectionately  embraced  each  other.  I  found 
that  he  very  much  resembled  the  portraits  I  had  seen  of  him.  1 
was  delighted  to  behold,  in  the  plenitude  of  life  and  vigour,  a 
man  so  highly  celebrated,  and  characterized  by  peculiarities 
which  none  before  him  had  ever  possessed,  and  which  perhaps, 
the  human  mind  may  never  again  develope.  From  some  ex- 
clamations which  escaped  him  at  the  first  sight  of  me,  I  was  con- 
vinced that  my  appearance  did  not  correspond  with  his  expecta- 
tions. Faithful  to  my  natural  inclination  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  world  as  I  found  it,  I  told  him  he  must  be  content  to  take 
me  as  I  was,  since  it  had  pleased  God  and  Nature  so  to  make 
me.  Our  conversation  turned  on  some  points  which  we  had 
treated  in  our  correspondence,  and  on  which  we  had  not  been 
able  to  come  to  an  agreement.  We  were,  however,  soon  inter- 
rupted ;  a  circumstance  at  which  I  was  exceedingly  mortified. 

When  my  friends  and  I  wished  to  discuss  subjects  which  pow- 
erfully interested  the  mind  and  heart,  we  for  that  purpose  with- 
drew, and  absented  ourselves  from  our  usual  meetings,  because 
we  found  that,  owing  to  the  diversity  of  opinions  and  ideas,  if 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


256 


was  scarcely  possible  even  for  a  few  individuals  to  come  to  an 
understanding.  But  it  was  quite  the  reverse  with  Lavater.  He 
loved  to  exercise  his  influence  over  congregated  numbers.  He 
was  eminently  gifted  with  the  happy  talent  of  inculcating  his 
doctrine  on  the  minds  of  his  hearers  ;  a  faculty  for  which  he 
was  greatly  indebted  to  his  skill  in  observing  physiognomical 
expression.  Prompt  in  seizing  the  distinctive  shades  of  human 
character,  he  rapidly  scanned  the  minds  of  his  auditors.  He 
received  a  candid  declaration,  or  a  sincere  question,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  his  interlocutor  ;  and  his  answers  were  always  di- 
rectly to  the  purpose.  His  mild  and  benevolent  expression  of 
countenance,  his  agreeable  smile,  his  sonorous  German  accent, 
and  honest  Swiss  dialect — in  short,  every  peculiarity  by  which 
he  was  characterized — produced  the  most  agreeable  impression 
on  his  auditors.  The  attitude  of  his  body,  which  was  some- 
what bent,  by  diminishing  the  ascendency  of  his  presence,  placed 
him  in  some  degree  on  a  level  with  those  about  him.  Vanity 
and  arrogance  he  opposed  by  calmness  and  address.  At  the 
moment  when  he  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  yielding  to  his 
opponent,  he  suddenly  developed  his  argument  in  a  totally  new 
point  of  view.  Thus  he  succeeded  in  persuading  and  convin- 
cing ;  and,  perhaps,  even  in  producing  a  durable  impression  on 
his  hearers  :  for  men  who  are  imbued  with  a  portion  of  self- 
conceit,  are  often  possessed  of  an  easy  temper  ;  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  remove  by  gentle  means  the  tough  rind  that  envelopes 
the  fertile  seed. 

A  circumstance  which  very  much  embarrassed  Lavater,  was 
to  meet  with  those  persons  whose  unprepossessing  exterior  ren- 
dered them  decided  and  irreconcilable  enemies  of  his  doctrine. 
Men  of  this  kind  cherished  the  most  inveterate  malevolence, 
though  they  expressed  only  trifling  doubts.  They  generally 
employed  considerable  ingenuity  and  talent  to  discredit  a  doc- 
trine which  tended  directly  to  mortify  them  :  for  it  is  not  easy  to 
find  a  Socrates  who  will  deduce  from  his  own  personal  deformity 
an  argument  in  favour  of  the  virtues  he  has  acquired.  The  ob- 
stinacy of  this  class  of  adversaries  was  a  torment  to  Lavater. 
The  conflict  which  he  maintained  against  them  was  not  exempt 
from  passion  ;  for  the  smelting  fire  repels  the  resisting  ore  as 
oppressive  and  hostile. 

Lavater's  attention  was  so  engaged  during  his  stay  at  Frank-  , 
fort  that  I  had  no  opportunity  of  entering  upon  any  confidential 
communication  with  him  respecting  our  mutual  sentiments  and 
opinions.  I  derived  instruction  from  observing  the  method  he 
adopted  in  his  intercourse  with  mankind;  but  these  lessons  were 
not  attended  by  any  personal  advantage  to  myself,  for  there  was 
no  similarity  between  our  respective  situations  and  faculties. 
He  whose  object  is  the  reform  of  morals,  never  loses  his  labour: 
his  success  extends  more  widely  than  the  Scripture  modestly 
says  of  the  sower.    But  the  artist,  it  he  be  not  acknowledged 


iio6  MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 

as  such,  labours  in  vain.  I  have  already  mentioned  that  my 
readers  often  excited  my  impatience,  and  I  have  explained  why 
I  was  very  little  inclined  to  give  them  any  hint  respecting  my 
designs.  I  felt  but  too  sensibly  the  difference  between  Lava- 
ters  influence  and  mine.  His  was  exercised  on  those  immedi- 
ately around  him  ;  while  mine  reached  only  those  who  were  re- 
mote from  me.  People  who  were  dissatisfied  with  him  at  a  dis- 
tance, became  reconciled  to  him  on  a  nearer  approach.  Those, 
on  the  contrary,  who  from  a  perusal  of  rny  works  had  formed 
a  favourable  opinion  of  the  author,  were  much  disappointed 
when,  on  their  introduction  to  me,  they  found  a  reserved  and 
uncommunicative  man. 

Merk,  who  had  now  returned  from  Darmstadt,  was  still  faith- 
ful to  his  character  of  Mephistopheles.  The  interest  manifested 
by  the  fair  sex  for  Lavater,  afforded  him  an  abundant  sub;ect  of 
ridicule.  Having  observed  some  ladies  who  were  attentively 
inspecting  the  apartments,  and  particularly  the  bed-chamber  of 
our  prophet,  "  The  pious  souls,"  said  he,  "  wish  to  see  the  spot 
where  the  Lord  has  lain."  But,  in  spite  of  his  pleasantrie-,  he 
was  exercised  as  well  as  the  rest  ;  for  Lips,  who  accompa- 
nied Lavater,  sketched  the  profile  of  our  friend  in  no  less  cor- 
rect a  style  than  that  of  the  numerous  portraits  of  noted  and 
obscure  individuals,  who  were  destined  one  day  to  illustrate  the 
celebrated  pastor's  great  work  on  Physiognomy. 

To  me  Lavater's  visit  had  proved  highly  important  and  in- 
structive. It  imparted  a  new  impulse  to  my  love  for  the  fine 
arts,  and  inspired  me  with  new  activity  of  mind.  The  objects 
which  then  absorbed  my  time  and  attention  were  too  numerous 
to  admit  of  this  influence  taking  an  immediate  effect;  but  I  felt 
the  utmost  impatience  to  renew  the  discussion  of  the  important 
points  of  which  we  had  treated  in  our  correspondence.  I  there- 
fore resolved  to  accompany  Lavater  to  Ems,  whither  he  was 
about  to  proceed  ;  and  I  hoped,  during  the  journey,  shut  up 
in  a  carriage,  and  secure  against  interruption,  to  be  enabled 
freely  to  enter  on  the  discussion  of  the  questions  which  most 
interested  me. 

The  conversations  I  had  heard,  between  Lavater  and  Made- 
moiselle Von  Klettenberg,  afforded  me  a  fertile  source  of  useful 
reflection.  By  observing  these  two  decided  Christians  thus 
brought  in  contact  with  each  other,  I  clearly  perceived  how  the 
same  creed  might  be  modified  by  difference  of  feeling.  In  those 
days  of  toleration,  it  used  to  be  a  common  remark,  that  every 
individual  has  his  own  religion  and  his  own  way  of  worshipping 
God.  Without  precisely  agreeing  in  this  opinion,  I  was  fully 
convinced  that  the  two  sexes  form  for  themselves  a  Saviour, 
each  after  their  own  way .  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg  was 
attached  to  hers,  as  a  woman  is  to  a  lover,  to  whom  she  surren- 
ders her  heart  without  reserve,  in  whom  she  reposes  all  her 
hopes  and  happiness,  and  to  whom  she  intrusts  the  destiny  of 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE* 


257 


her  life,  without  fear  or  hesitation.  Lavater,  on  the  contrary, 
considered  Christ,  in  some  measure,  in  the  light  of  a  friend, 
whom,  with  a  heart  free  from  jealousy  and  full  of  the  tenderest 
attachment,  he  viewed  as  an  object  of  emulation  ;  and  while  he 
revered  the  sublime  virtues  of  the  Saviour,  he  sought  to  imitate, 
and  did  not  even  despair  of  equalling  them.  How  different 
were  these  two  directions  of  sentiment  and  imagination  ;  and 
how  well  they  express  the  general  difference  of  feeling  in  the 
two  sexes  !  Thus  it  is  easy  to  explain  how  men,  extremely  sus- 
ceptible of  tender  affection,  (as  for  example  Sannazar,)  have 
devoted  their  talents  and  their  lives  to  the  worship  of  the  Virgin, 
as  the  type  of  female  virtue  and  beauty,  and  have  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  caress  the  holy  infant. 

It  was  not  only  from  the  conversations  which  I  witnessed  be- 
tween my  two  friends,  but  also  from  the  confidence  which  they 
mutually  reposed  in  me,  that  1  was  enabled  to  judge  of  the  rela- 
tive difference  of  their  sentiments,  and  of  their  opinions  of  each 
other.  1  could  not  fully  coincide  with  either;  for  my  own  Chris- 
tian doctrine  had  also  its  peculiar  character,  modified  according 
to  feelings.  As  they  were  very  little  disposed  to  tolerate  me. 
I  repelled  their  censure  by  all  sorts  of  paradoxes  ;  and  when  1 
saw  that  they  were  about  to  lose  patience,  I  usually  took  leave 
of  them  with  a  joke. 

The  conflict  between  knowledge  and  faith  had  not  yet  be- 
come the  order  of  the  day  :  but  these  two  words,  with  the  signiti- 
cation  that  is  attached  to  them,  frequently  occurred  in  the  course 
of  a  discussion.  Those  who  cherished  a  low  opinion  of  human 
nature,  affirm  ed  that  there  was  as  little  certainty  on  the  one  side 
as  on  the  other.  I,  on  the  contrary,  declared  myself  both  for 
knowledge  and  faith  ;  but  my  two  friends  were  not,  for  that  rea- 
son, the  more  disposed  to  favour  my  opinions.  With  regard  to 
faith,  said  1,  the  whole  point  rests  in  belief  :  it  matters  not  what 
is  the  subject  of  that  belief.  That  which  constitutes  faith  is  a 
feeling  of  security  for  the  present  and  for  the  future  ;  and  this 
security  depends  on  confidence  in  a  Being  supremely  powerful 
and  impenetrable.  All  rests  on  this  firm  conviction.  As  to  the 
mode  in  which  we  picture  to  ourselves  the  Deity,  that  depends 
on  the  nature  and  extent  of  our  faculties,  even  on  circum- 
stances, and  it  is  altogether  a  matter  of  indifference.  Faith 
may  be  compared  to  a  sacred  vase,  into  which  the  believer  is 
ever  ready  to  pour  forth,  with  his  utmost  fervour,  the  sacrifice  of 
his  sentiments,  his  reason,  and  his  ideas.  It  is  the  very  reverse 
of  knowledge  ;  all  the  importance  of  which  consists  in  the  value 
and  extent  of  what  is  known.  Knowledge  may  be  the  subject 
of  dispute,  because  it  is  susceptible  of  proof,  and  of  more  or 
less  extension.  It  is  communicated  from  individuals  to  multi- 
tudes ;  and  the  most  chimerical  of  all  illusions  would  be  the 
hope  of  grasping  it  as  a  whole.  It  is,  therefore,  directly  the  re* 
verse  of  faith. 

K  k  ' 


258  .MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 

Half  truths  oi'  this  kind,  and  the  reveries  to  which  they  give 
rise,  may,  when  invested  with  poetic  colouring,  become  the 
source  of  pleasure  and  noble  excitement  ;  but  when  introduced 
into  a  discussion,  they  serve  only  to  disturb  and  confuse  it.  I, 
therefore,  left  Lavater  free  to  communicate  with  those  who 
sought  after  him  for  their  edification.  !  deprived  myself  of  close 
intercourse  with  him  for  a  time  ;  but  for  this  I  found  abundant 
compensation  in  the  journey  which  we  made  together  to  Ems, 
We  set  out  in  fair  summer  weather.  Lavater  was  in  charming 
spirits  ;  for  his  morality  and  piety  were  free  from  ever)  tinge 
of  gloom.  He  was  always  ready  to  join  in  the  gayety  of  the 
moment,  and  to  place  himself  in  unison  with  those  about  him, 
provided  they  did  not  exceed  the  limits  which  his  delicacy  had 
prescribed.  If  these  boundaries  were  ever  trespassed  upon,  the 
offender  was  immediately  called  to  order  by  a  clap  on  the  shoul- 
der, accompanied  by  the  exclamation,  "  My  dear  friend  !"  ut- 
tered in  a  tone  of  cordiality.  My  journey  furnished  me  both 
with  information  and  pleasure  :  but  it  served  to  make  me  ac- 
quainted with  the  character  of  Lavater,  rather  than  to  regulate 
and  form  my  own.  At  Ems  he  was  immediately  surrounded 
with  society  of  every  kind  ;  and  as  1  did  not  find  it  convenient 
to  be  longer  absent  from  Frankfort,  I  returned  home. 

The  arrival  of  Basedow  soon  presented  me  with  a  new  source 
of  occupation.  Never  was  there  a  more  complete  contrast  than 
between  this  man  and  Lavater  :  a  contrast  that  was  striking  even 
at  the  very  first  glance.  Lavater's  countenance  was  open  and 
candid  :  Basedow's,  on  the  contrary,  bespoke  a  mind  that  was 
withdrawn  and  concentrated  within  itself.  Lavater's  eyes, 
shaded  by  long  lashes,  were  expressive  of  serenity  and  benevo- 
lence. Basedow's  small,  black,  sunken  eyes  darted  their  pene- 
trating glances  from  beneath  thick  and  bushy  eyebrows.  Lava- 
ter's brow  was  agreeably  adorned  with  curly  black  hair.  Base- 
dow's sharp  and  harsh  voice,  his  rapid  utterance,  his  decided  as- 
sertions, his  sardonic  laugh,  his  abrupt  mode  of  breaking  off  and 
changing  a  conversation — in  short,  all  the  qualities  that  charac- 
terized him — were  entirely  the  reverse  of  the  amiable  and  cap- 
tivating manners  of  the  pastor  of  Zurich.  Basedow  also  ex- 
cited great  interest  and  admiration  at  Frankfort;  but  his  so- 
ciety was  not  calculated  to  edify  and  instruct.  His  sole  object 
was  the  cultivation  of  the  vast  field  which  he  had  opened,  and, 
by  improving  education,  to  render  the  sojourn  of  man  in  this 
world  happier  and  more  comformable  with  the  laws  of  nature. 
He  even  manifested  too  great  eagerness  for  the  attainment  of 
the  end  he  had  in  view. 

I  did  not  enter  warmly  into  his  plans,  of  which  indeed  I  could 
not  form  a  very  correct  idea.  1  applauded  his  desire  of  im- 
parting a  high  interest  to  education,  and  placing  it  on  a  more  na- 
tural footing.  To  cultivate  the  study  of  the  ancient  languages, 
appeared  to  me  a  laudable  plan  :  and  I  was  pleased  to  observe 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


how  his  views  tended  to  promote  useful  activity,  and  to  give  a 
novel  and  more  natural  aspect  to  the  world.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  I  perceived  that  objects  were  still  more  disconnected  in 
his  elementary  work  than  in  reality  ;  for  in  the  world,  as  it  ap- 
pears before  us,  it  is  their  nature  that  constitutes  their  consist- 
ency. Thus,  through  the  veil  of  variety  and  apparent  confu- 
sion, there  is  always  discernible  a  certain  regularity  by  which 
the  various  parts  are  combined  together.  Basedow's  elemen- 
tary work,  however,  breaks  the  real  unity,  by  substituting  an 
artificial  connexion  of  ideas  for  the  connexion  of  natural  objects  ; 
and  we  have  to  regret  the  advantages  of  the  satisfactory  method 
adopted  in  the  work  of  Amos  Comenius. 

Basedow's  conduct  was  even  more  singular  and  incomprehen* 
sible  than  his  doctrine.  The  object  of  his  journey  was  to  conci- 
liate public  favour  for  his  philanthropic  enterprise  ;  and  not  only 
to  win  hearts,  but  to  open  purses.  He  explained  his  views  with 
persuasive  eloquence,  and  he  knew  how  to  gain  the  suffrage  of 
his  auditors.  But  he  soon  alienated  even  the  minds  of  those 
whom  he  placed  under  contribution,  and  gave  them  unnecessary 
offence  by  expressing  almost  involuntarily  his  strange  opinions 
respecting  religion.  On  this  point,  again,  he  was  completely 
the  reverse  of  Lavater.  The  latter  adopted  the  Bible  literally 
and  entirely,  as  applicable  to  the  world  in  its  present  state, 
Basedow,  on  the  contrary,  had  a  restless  passion  for  giving  a 
new  meaning  to  every  thing,  and  regulating  the  doctrines  and 
rites  of  the  church  according  to  his  own  caprice.  He  merci- 
lessly and  inconsiderately  overthrew  ideas,  which,  though  not 
literally  expressed  in  the  Bible,  are  derived  from  it  by  skilful  in- 
terpretation ;  those  philosophic  expressions  and  arguments,  or 
those  parables,  of  which  the  fathers  of  the  church  and  the 
councils  have  availed  themselves  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
intelligible  what  seemed  to  be  obscure,  and  opposing  heretics. 
On  all  occasions  he  declared  himself,  in  the  most  unreserved 
and  decided  way,  a  sworn  enemy  to  the  Trinity  ;  and  he  was 
incessantly  arguing  against  that  article  of  faith,  which  is  gene- 
rally acknowledged  to  be  an  impenetrable  mystery.  This  ma- 
nia was  very  annoying  to  me  in  my  private  conversations  with 
Basedow.  The  hypostasis,  the  ousia,  and  the  prosopon,  were 
continually  at  his  tongue's  end.  Ï  had  recourse  to  my  armour 
of  paradox;  I  tried  to  wind  round  his  opinions,  and  opposed  his 
bold  assertions  by  still  bolder  ones.  These  contests  inspired 
me  with  fresh  activity  of  mind.  Basedow  had  read  more  than 
I  ;  and  he  was  skilful  in  disputation.  Thus  I  was  obliged  con- 
tinually to  redouble  my  efforts,  in  proportion  to  the  importance 
of  the  subjects  which  came  under  our  discussion. 

I  could  not  let  slip  so  fair  an  opportunity, "if  not  of  acquiring 
information,  at  least  of  calling  my  faculties  into  exercise.  I 
begged  my  father  and  my  friends  to  take  charge  of  my  most 
urgent  affairs,  and  I  again  quitted  Frankfort  to  accompany 


MÈMOlkS  OF  GOETHE. 


Basedow.    But  when  I  thought  of  the  amiability  of  Lavater, 
what  a  difference  did  I  observe  between  him  and  Basedow  ! 
The  purity  of  Lavater's  heart  extended  its  influence  on  all  around 
him  :  in  his  society  one  found  it  necessary  to  observe  even  mai- 
denly delicacy,  for  fear  of  shocking  him  by  any  displeasing  con- 
trast.   Basedow  was  entirely  concentrated  within  himself,  and 
eared  little  for  those  about  him.    He  had  an  intolerable  habit 
of  smoking  bad  tobacco  ;  and  he  was  continually  setting  light 
to  his  fungus-like  tinder,  which  vied  with  the  tobacco  in  infect- 
ing the  surrounding  atmosphere.    He  took  pleasure  in  annoying 
me  with  the  fumes  of  this  horrid  preparation,  which  I  would 
have  classed  in  natural  history  under  the  denomination  of  *  Base- 
dow's fungus  fœtidus.'    With  all  his  merit,  one  of  the  peculiari- 
ties of  Basedow  was,  that  he  took  pleasure  in  exercising  his 
malignant  humour  at  the  expense  of  the  most  inoffensive  per- 
sons.   He  left  nobody  at  rest.    He  loved  to  indulge  in  sarcasm, 
or  to  excite  embarrassment  by  unforeseen  questions.    A  bitter 
laugh  denoted  the  pleasure  he  enjoyed  in  taking  his  interlocu- 
tor by  surprise  ;  and  yet  he  was  not  the  less  delighted  when  he 
received  a  ready  answer. 

The  oddities  of  Basedow  served  only  to  make  me  regret  La- 
vater.  When  I  met  the  latter,  during  our  stay  atthe  baths  of  Ems, 
he  received  me  affectionately.  He  communicated  to  me  his  ob- 
servations on  the  different  characters  of  the  visiters  to  the  baths, 
among  whom  he  had  gained  many  friends  and  partisans.  I  also 
fell  in  with  several  of  my  old  acquaintances,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  several  years,  and  I  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
that  men  grow  old  and  women  change  for  the  worse — a  fact,  of 
which,  in  youth,  we  find  it  difficult  to  convince  ourselves.  The 
company  at  Ems  increased  daily.  We  met  each  other  at  the 
baths,  and  became  daily  more  and  more  intimate.  Balls  and 
concerts  were  not  wanting  ;  and  we  had  scarcely  time  to  enjoy 
a  few  moments'  rest. 

In  addition  to  all  this,  I  usually  passed  a  portion  of  the  night 
with  Basedow,  who  took  no  share  in  the  gay  amusements  of  the 
place.  He  never  undressed  ;  but  dictated  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  night.  He  sometimes  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and 
slumbered  for  a  little  ;  while  his  secretary,  with  his  pen  in  his 
hand,  remained  seated  in  his  place  until  the  moment  when  Base- 
dow, between  sleeping  and  waking,  resumed  the  course  of  his 
ideas.  All  this  took  place  in  a  room  closely  shut  up,  and  filled 
with  the  fumes  of  his  detestable  tobacco  and  tinder.  Whenever 
i  quitted  the  ball-room,  I  hastened  to  join  him  ;  and  I  was  always 
sure  to  find  him  ready  to  talk  and  dispute.  If,  after  a  short 
conversation,  I  happened  to  return  to  the  ball,  I  was  no  sooner 
gone  than  Basedow  resumed  the  thread  of  his  ideas,  and  began 
to  dictate  as  though  he  had  never  been  disturbed. 

We  made  excursions  into  the  neighbouring  country,  visited 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


261 


all  the  castles,  and  all  the  ladies  of  quality,  who  are  generally 
better  disposed  than  men  to  receive  talent  and  piety.  At  Nassau 
we  met  Madame  Von  Stein,  a  lady  who  was  highly  respected. 
At  her  house  we  met  with  a  great  deal  of  company,  among 
whom  were  Madame  La  Roche  and  several  young  ladies.  We 
also  found  Lavater  engaged  in  his  physiognomical  experiments. 
Many  vain  endeavours  were  made  to  lead  him  into  error  ;  but 
his  eye  was  too  well  practised  to  admit  of  his  being  deceived. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  I  was  tormented  for  explanations  respecting 
Charlotte  and  Werther;  and  I  sometimes  found  it  impossible  to 
evade  these  questions,  with  a  due  regard  to  politeness.  Ï  as- 
sembled the  children  round  me  ;  related  to  them  all  sorts  of 
whimsical  stories,  founded  on  well-known  facts  :  and  i  thought 
myself  happy  that  none  of  my  little  hearers  plagued  me  to 
inform  them  what  was  truth,  or  what  Was  fiction. 

Basedow  was  intent  on  proving  the  vast  importance  of  meli- 
orating the  education  of  youth  ;  and  he  invited  all  persons  of 
wealth  and  distinction  to  promote  his  plans.  If  his  arguments 
and  powerful  eloquence  did  not  immediately  induce  the  people 
to  open  their  purses,  they  at  least  inspired  good  wishes  for  his 
success.  But  no  sooner  had  he  worked  himself  into  favour, 
than  his  unlucky  antitrinitarian  spirit  gained  possession  of  him. 
On  one  occasion,  in  particular,  with  a  total  disregard  of  the 
suitableness  of  time  or  place,  he  launched  forth  into  all  sorts  of 
extravagance,  conceiving  that  he  was  advocating  religion,  while 
the  rest  of  the  company  found  his  sentiments  intolerable.  All 
sought  refuge  against  this  annoyance.  Lavater  assumed  a  se- 
rious air,  the  ladies  went  out  to  walk,  and  I  endeavoured  by 
jesting  to  divert  Basedow  from  the  train  of  his  discourse.  But 
the  dissonance  was  too  powerful  to  admit  of  the  restoration  of 
harmony.  The  Christian  instruction  that  was  anticipated  from 
Lavater,  the  hints  on  education  that  were  expected  from  Base- 
dow, the  sentimental  conversation  in  which  I  had  intended 
to  take  part— in  short,  all  the  hopes  of  the  company  were  im- 
mediately defeated.  On  our  way  home,  Lavater  reproached 
our  pedagogue  for  his  misconduct.  As  for  me,  I  punished  him  in 
a  comical  way.  The  weather  was  very  warm  ;  and  the  smoke 
of  the  tobacco,  having  rendered  him  very  thirsty,  he  longed  for 
a  glass  of  beer.  Observing  an  inn  at  a  short  distance  from  us 
on  the  road,  he  eagerly  directed  the  coachman  to  drive  up  to  it. 
However,  just  as  we  were  about  to  stop  I  desired  the  man  in  a 
very  imperative  tone  to  drive  on,  Ba-edow,  astonished,  in  vain 
ordered  the  coachman  to  stop  ;  but  I  vehemently  insisted 
on  proceeding  forward  ;  which  we  accordingly  did.  Basedow 
uttered  a  thousand  maledictions,  and  appeared  ready  to  strike 
me.  I,  however,  calmed  his  rage  by  coolly  observing, — "  Father, 
instead  of  being  angry,  you  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me.  It  is 
fortunate  you  did  not  see  the  sign  of  the  inn.  It  exhibited  two 
triangles  entwined  together.    One  trinity  is  generally  enoueh  to 


262 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


drive  you  out  of  your  senses  ;  but  if  you  had  seen  two,  1  suppose 
we  should  have  had  to  bind  you  hand  and  foot."  He  burst  into 
a  fit  of  laughter,  at  the  same  time  venting  all  sorts  of  impreca- 
tions on  me  ;  and  the  good  Lavater  exercised  his  patience  be- 
tween the  young  fool  and  the  old  one. 

About  the  middle  of  July,  Lavater  proposed  returning  lo 
Switzerland.  Basedow  found  it  his  interest  to  accompany  him  ; 
and  1  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  society  of  these  two 
men,  that  I  could  not  prevail  on  myself  to  quit  them.  We  had 
a  delightful  journey  along  the  banks  of  the  Lahn  ;  and  it  was 
here,  on  seeing  the  remarkable  ruins  of  a  castle,  that  i  wrote 
the  song, 

Hoch  auf  dem  alten  thurme  steht,  &c* 

I  copied  it  into  Lips's  Album,  and  it  met  with  the  approval  of  my 
friends  ;  but,  prompted  by  my  evil  genius,  which  ever  leads  me 
to  obliterate  a  favourable  impression  by  one  of  an  unfavourable 
nature,  I  wrote  all  sorts  of  jesting  rhymes  on  the  succeeding  page. 
I  was  delighted  to  behold  the  Rhine  once  again  ;  and  I  enjoyed 
in  idea  the  admiration  of  the  traveller  who  for  the  first  time 
contemplates  this  magnificent  river.  At  length  we  arrive  at 
Goblentz.  Wherever  we  went,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  throng 
of  company  ;  for  each  individual  of  our  party  excited  curiosity 
after  his  own  way.  Basedow  and  I  seemed  to  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  neglect  of  all  politeness.  As  to  Lavater,  he,  as  usual, 
^ave  abundant  proofs  of  judgment  and  prudence;  but,  incapa- 
ble as  he  was  of  concealing  his  sentiments,  in  spite  of  the  purity 
of  his  intentions,  he  nevertheless  appeared  a  very  singular  being 
in  the  eyes  of  men  of  ordinary  understanding. 

The  recollection  of  a  comical  dinner,  of  which  we  partook  at 
a  table  d'hôte  at  Goblentz,  furnished  rne  with  the  subject  of  some 
verses  which  I  have  preserved.  1  sat  between  Lavater  and 
Basedow.  The  former  was  explaining  the  Apocalypse  to  a 
country  clergyman  ;  and  the  latter  was  using  vain  endeavours 
to  convince  an  obstinate  dancing-master  that  baptism  was  an  an- 
tiquated custom,  not  in  unison  with  modern  ideas. 

We  proceeded  onward  to  Cologne,  where  1  congratulated  my- 
self on  the  expectation  of  meeting  the  two  brothers  Jacobi,  who, 
with  some  other  persons  of  note,  were  coming  to  meet  my  two 
celebrated  travelling  companions.  I  hoped  to  obtain  their  for- 
giveness for  some  acts  of  discourtesy,  to  which  1  and  my  friends 
had  been  instigated  by  the  caustic  humour  of  Herder.  The 
letters  and  poems  which  had  been  publicly  exchanged  between 
Gleim  and  George  Jacobi,  had  furnished  us  with  a  subject  of 
pleasantry.  We  did  not  consider  that  we  were  betraying  no 
small  share  of  egotism  in  thus  disturbing  the  pleasure  of  others, 
for  the  sake  of  amusing  ourselves.  Our  raillery  had  occasion- 
ed some  misunderstanding  between  the  literary  societies  of  the 

*  High  on  the  old  tower  stands,  &e. 


3IE3IOIRS  OP  GOETHE, 


263 


Upper  and  Lower  Rhine.  But  the  causes  from  which  this  mis- 
understanding had  arisen  were  too  trivial  to  render  a  reconcilia- 
tion difficult  ;  and  the  conciliatory  spirit  of  the  fair  sex  was  here 
successfully  employed.  Sophia  La  Roche  had  already  given  us 
a  very  favourable  report  of  the  two  brothers  Jacobi;  and  Made- 
moiselle Fahlmer,  who  came  from  Dusseidorf  to  Frankfort,  was 
intimately  acquainted  with  them  and  their  connexions.  Made- 
moiselle Fahlmer,  by  her  exquisite  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and 
her  perfectly  cultivated  understanding,  bore  evidence  of  the  su- 
perior society  in  which  she  had  moved.  She  gradually  made  us 
ashamed  of  putting  her  patience  to  the  test  of  enduring  our  un- 
ceremonious manners.  The  amiable  cordiality  of  the  youngest 
Mademoiselle  Jacobi.  and  the  gayety  of  her  brother  Frederick's 
wife,  were  charms,  which  powerfully  attracted  us  to  visit  their 
place  of  residence.  Frederick  Jacobi's  wife  was  a  most  capti- 
vating woman;  possessed  of  refined  sensibility,  exempt  from  all 
affectation.  She  expressed  herself  with  ease  ;  and  the  beauty 
of  her  form,  together  with  the  calm  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance, which  never  revealed  any  lively  emotion,  reminded  me 
of  Rubens's  females.  These  ladies,  during  their  stay  at  Frank- 
fort, had  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  my  sister;  and  the 
amiability  of  their  manners  had  had  the  effect  of  banishing,  in 
some  degree,  the  coldness  and  reserve  of  Cornelia's  disposition. 

Our  first  introductions  at  Cologne  were  marked  by  cordiality 
and  confidence  ;  for  the  ladies  whom  I  have  mentioned  above 
had  given  a  good  account  of  us  to  their  acquaintance.  During 
the  journey  I  had  been  looked  upon  merely  as  the  tail  of  the 
two  great  comets  :  but  now  I  began  to  excite  notice.  My 
friends  showed  me  attention,  and  seemed  anxious  that  i  should 
return  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  began  to  be  tired  of  my  follies; 
which,  to  say  the  truth, .formed  only  the  veil  beneath  which  I 
concealed  my  vexation  for  the  misunderstanding  and  negligence 
of  which  I  had  been  the  object  during  my  journey.  At  length, 
however,  my  real  sentiments  developed  themselves  ;  and  doubt- 
less, the  very  force  of  my  impressions  had  the  effect  of  oblitera- 
ting every  trace  of  them  from  my  recollection.  Our  thoughts 
and  observations  remain  profoundly  engraven  on  the  mind  but 
the  heart  refuses  to  reproduce  the  ardour  or  the  charm  of  the 
sentiments  we  have  experienced.  We  find  it  impossible  to  re- 
new the  delights  of  those  moments  of  enthusiasm  which  have 
rendered  us  so  happy.  They  take  possession  of  us  unawares, 
and  we  yield  to  them  almost  unconsciously.  Those  who  have 
observed  us  at  such  moments,  preserve  a  better  recollection  of 
them  than  we  do  ourselves. 

f  had  hitherto  sought  to  elude  religious  conversations  ;  an- 
swering but  seldom,  and  only  with  reserve,  questions  which  ap- 
peared to  contract  too  much  the  circle  of  my  ideas  on  this  sub- 
ject. Besides,  those  who  wished  to  pass  off  their  sentiments  and 
opinions  as  mine — and,  above  all,  those  who  tormented  me  by 
reminding  me  of  the  laws  of  vulgar  reason,  and  who  imperious- 


264 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


]y  prescribed  tome  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  what  Ï  ought  to  avoid 
— soon  tired  me  out  of  my  patience.  It  may  naturally  be  sup- 
posed that  my  resistance  to  these  pretensions  was  not  regarded 
with  a  very  favourable  eye,  and  soon  occasioned  misunderstand- 
ing. Advice,  offered  in  a  friendly  and  unassuming  way,  would 
have  succeeded  better  with  me  ;  but  my  mind  would  not  submit 
to  be  controlled. 

A  sentiment  which  exercised  an  invincible  ascendency  over 
me,  though  I  have  never  been  able  properly  to  express  its  singu- 
lar effect,  is  the  concurrence  of  a  recollection  with  the  impres- 
sion of  the  moment,  or  the  feeling  of  affinity  between  the  past 
and  the  present.  That  sort  of  contemplative  emotion,  by  which 
objects  separated  by  time  are  combined  in  a  single  impression, 
imparts  a  fantastic  colouring  to  the  aspect  of  the  present,  i 
have  painted  this  compound  sentiment  in  many  of  my  lighter 
productions.  It  always  produces  a  happy  effect  in  poetry, 
though  it  leaves  in  the  mind  a  singular,  inexplicable,  and  some- 
what unsatisfactory  impression. 

The  contemplation  of  the  monuments  of  antiquity  at  Cologne 
filled  me  with  sensations  which  cannot  be  adequately  expressed. 
The  ruins  of  the  cathedral  (for  an  unfinished  monument  may  be 
compared  to  a  decayed  one)  revived  those  emotions  to  which  the 
sight  of  the  Minster  of  Strasburgh  had  accustomed  me,  but 
without  awakening  those  meditations  which  a  work  of  art  usu- 
ally inspires.  That  which  !  beheld  at  Cologne  was  at  once  too 
much  and  too  little  for  me  I  could  obtain  no  assistance  in  ex- 
tricating myself  from  the  labyrinth  into  which  I  was  entangled 
by  my  ignorance  of  the  connexion  between  what  1  saw  execu- 
ted and  the  original  design  of  the  artist  ;  for  I  could  not  then, 
as  I  now  might,  avail  myself  of  the  persevering  researches  which 
some  of  my  friends  have  since  made  respecting  these  antiquities. 
In  the  presence  of  others  I  admired  a  vestibule  or  a  magnificent 
range  of  pillars  -v  but  when  1  was  alone,  i  contemplated  with  re- 
gret the  vast  edifice  that  had  been  struck  with  death  in  the 
midst  of  its  creation.  Alas!  I  exclaimed,  that  so  sublime  an 
idea  should  remain  unexecuted!  All  the  efforts  here  employed 
by  the  architect  lead  only  to  the  conviction  of  the  melancholy 
truth,  that  even  labour  and  time  are  often  insufficient  for  the 
accomplishment  of  stupendous  undertakings  ;  and  that,  in  the 
production  of  masterpieces  of  art,  Minerva  must  issue  ready- 
armed  from  the  brain  of  Jupiter! 

During  these  intervals  of  pain  rather  than  of  pleasure,  I  form- 
ed but  little  idea  of  the  gratifying  and  profound  impressions 
which  I  was  about  to  experience.  I  visited  the  old  manor  of 
Jappach  ;  and  all  the  emotions  which  had  hitherto  been  only 
cherished  in  my  imagination,  were  realized  in  the  most  forcible 
way.  The  family  who  once  occupied  this  habitation  had  long 
since  been  extinct  ;  but  the  ground  floor  of  the  mansion,  con- 
tiguous to  the  garden,  presented  almost  living  traces  of  its  for- 
mer residents.    At  the  first  glance  my  attention  was  arrested  by 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


the  floor  regularly  paved  with  red  and  brown  bricks.  Ï  observed 
a  carved  arm-chair  raised  above  the  rest  :  and  the  seats  ami 
backs  of  all  the  chairs  were  worked  like  tapestry.  ,  The  tables 
were  beautifully  inlaid,  and  supported  on  massive  legs.  Metal 
lamps  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  The  fire-place  and  fire- 
irons  were  of  enormous  size.  In  short,  every  thing  in  this  vast 
apartment  was  in  perfect  conformity  with  the  age  to  which  it  be- 
longed ;  nothing  was  modern  except  the  visiters  of  the  moment. 
But  what  most  of  all  excited  my  astonishment  and  admiration, 
was  a  large  family  picture  which  hung  over  the  chimney.  It 
represented  the  former  proprietor  of  the  mansion,  surrounded 
by  his  wife  and  children.  The  figures  in  the  picture  seemed  as 
fresh  and  vivid  as  though  they  had  been  painted  but  yesterday; 
yet  the  originals  had  longj  since  disappeared  from  the  world. 
Of  those  plump  rosy-cheeked  children,  nothing  now  remained 
but  the  recollection  traced  by  the  hand  of  the  artist.  I  was 
overpowered  by  my  feelings.  My  imagination  was  exalted  to 
the  highest  degree.  All  the  sensibility  of  my  heart  was  deve- 
loped ;  and  from  that  moment  my  new  friends  unhesitatingly 
granted  me  their  attachment  and  confidence  for  life. 

During  our  conversations,  animated  as  they  were  by  the  con- 
genial impulse  of  our  hearts  and  minds,  and  which  every  object 
that  excited  our  interest  contributed  to  maintain,  I  would  some- 
times indulge  in  reciting  the  newest  and  most  favourite  of  my 
ballads.  The  King  of  Thule,  and  some  others,  were  well  re- 
ceived. I  read  them  with  enthusiasm  ;  for  I  was  still  fond  of 
my  poems,  though  I  rarely  recited  them,  being  sometimes  re- 
strained by  the  presence  of  persons  on  whom  the  expression  of 
sentiments  so  tender  might  have  produced  a  dangerous  effect. 
This  consideration  frequently  seized  me  while  I  was  declaiming, 
and  caused  me  to  break  off  suddenly.  How  often  have  I  not  been 
charged  on  such  occasions  with  caprice  and  eccentricity  ! 

Poetic  composition  was  my  favourite  occupation  ;  it  was  my 
peculiar  vocation  ;  yet  I  was  not  unaccustomed  to  studies  of 
another  kind,  f  eagerly  participated  in  Jacobi's  meditations  on 
the  impenetrable  mysteries  of  nature.  I  was  particularly  charm- 
ed with  the  originality  of  his  ideas.  They  gave  occasion  to  none 
of  those  discussions  into  which  1  was  led  with  Lavater  on  the 
subject  of  Christianity,  and  with  Basedow  on  education.  Jaco- 
bi*s  sentiments  came  sincerely  from  the  heart  ;  and  while  in  the 
unreservedness  of  his  confidence,  he  discovered  to  me  the  long- 
ings of  his  soul,  all  his  ideas  seemed  to  be  my  own  But  this 
singular  mixture  of  desire,  enthusiasm,  and  ideas,  did  not  en» 
lighten  me;  it  served  only  as  a  happy  augury  of  the  lights  to 
which  aspired  However,  if  I  did  not  go  very  deeply  into 
these  profound  questions,  1  at  least  studied  them  attentively,  and 
familiarized  myself  with  the  conceptions  and  the  doctrines  of  an 
extraordinary  man  It  is  true,  !  was  a*  yet  but  half  initiated* 
and  that  as  it  were  bv  stealth,  yet  this  was  sufficient  to  produce 

LI 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


very  happy  effects.  This  profound  genius,  who  was  doomed  to 
exercise  so  powerful  an  influence  over  me,  was  no  other  than 
Spinoza. .  After  vainly  seeking  on  all  sides  a  guide  for  my  unset- 
tled brain,  1  lighted  on  Spinoza's  system  of  ethics.  I  should 
have  been  as  much  puzzled  to  state  what  had  most  struck  me 
in  this  work,  as  to  point  out  what  parts  of  it  had  least  excited  my 
attention  and  interest.  It,  however,  furnished  a  sedative  for  my 
passions.  It  seemed  as  if  a  vast  and  uninterrupted  perspective 
had  opeued  for  me  over  the  moral  and  physical  world.  What 
particularly  attracted  me  in  Spinoza's  writings,  was  the  unbound- 
ed disinterestedness  displayed  in  all  his  propositions.  This 
singular  maxim, — u  He  who  loves  God  as  he  ought  to  be  loved, 
should  not  expect  any  return  from  God,"  with  all  the  premises 
on  which  it  rests,  and  all  the  consequences  that  are  deduced  from 
it,  entirely  occupied  my  mind.  To  be  disinterested  in  all  things, 
and  particularly  in  love  and  friendship,  was  my  most  ardent 
wish,  my  favourite  maxim,  and  the  dearest  object  of  my  endea- 
vours. "  If  I  love  you,  what  is  it  to  you  ?"  that  haughty  ex- 
clamation which  subsequently  escaped  from  me,  was  the  expres- 
sion of  the  profoundest  sentiment  of  my  heart.  My  pre- 
dilection for  Spinoza,  however,  proved  the  truth  of  the  observa- 
tion, that  the  most  intimate  unions  are  the  result  of  contrarieties. 
What,  in  fact,  could  form  a  more  complete  contrast  to  my  enthu- 
siastic inspirations,  than  the  calmness  of  that  philosopher,  applied 
as  it  was  with  perfect  equality  to  all  the  affairs  of  this  world  ? 
His  mathematical  precision  was  the  very  opposite  to  my  poetic 
flights.  Yet  it  was  this  very  regularity,  which  is  considered  in- 
applicable to  the  moral  world,  that  had  rendered  me  so  attentive 
to  his  lessons,  and  inspired  me  with  a  passionate  admiration  of 
him.  Pre-existing  relations  thus  invincibly  drew  us  together  ; 
the  mind  of  the  philosopher,  and  the  sensibility  of  the  poet;  the 
reason  of  the  former,  and  the  imagination  of  the  latter.  By  the 
aid  of  these  affinities  was  accomplished  the  union  of  two  beings 
the  most  dissimilar  to  each  other. 

All  these  reflections  and  impressions,  like  opposing  elements 
whose  struggle  precedes  the  instant  when  order  shall  succeed  to 
chaos,  had  hitherto  only  excited  in  my  mind  the  most  violent 
fermentation.  Frederic  Jacobi  was  the  first  to  perceive  it.  He 
cordially  accepted  my  confidence,  and  returned  it  by  an  endea- 
vour to  draw  me  into  his  own  sphere.  He,  too,  experienced 
the  longings  of  a  restless  and  inquiring  spirit  ;  he  too  rejected 
all  external  aid,  determined  to  seek  within  himself  for  informa- 
tion and  a  solid  point  of  support.  Unenlightened  as  1  was  with 
regard  to  my  own  sensations,  how  could  I  properly  comprehend 
his  ?  Though  farther  advanced  than  myself  in  the  career  of 
philosophic  meditations,  and  even  more  familiar  than  I  with  the 
doctrine  of  Spinoza,  Jacobi  was  not  the  less  eager  to  throw  light 
upon  the  chaos  of  my  ideas.  Such  a  pure  and  intimate  con- 
nexion between  another's  mind  and  my  own,  was  a  novelty  to 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


267 


me  ;  and  ï  grew  more  and  more  passionately  fond  of  communi- 
cations which  became  daily  more  familiar  and  more  extended. 
Often,  after  we  had  parted  for  the  night,  have  I  quitted  my 
chamber  to  return  to  him  ;  and  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  whose 
trembling  beams  were  reflected  in  the  waves  of  the  Rhine,  we 
have  stood  together  at  his  window,  and  launched  into  a  vast  field 
of  speculation  and  discussion,  presenting  a  fruitful  source  of  re- 
flections congenial  to  our  happy  state  of  frank  and  liberal  com- 
munication. 

I  cannot  now  give  any  idea  of  our  conversation  on  subjects, 
many  of  which  I  should  find  it  a  most  difficult  task  to  describe. 
However,  one  circumstance  of  this  period  of  my  life  dwells 
strongly  in  my  recollection.  I  allude  to  ajourney  to  the  hunting 
château  of  Bensberg,  situated  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine, 
and  commanding  a  magnificent  prospect.  What  particularly  ex- 
cited my  admiration  was  a  set  of  pictures  by  Weenix,  which 
adorned  the  walls.  There  were  ranged  circularly,  as  on  the 
socle  of  the  columns  of  a  great  portico,  all  the  animals  that 
serve  for  the  sports  of  the  chase.  Immediately  above  these 
pictures,  the  eye  was  carried  over  a  vast  and  extensive  land- 
scape. The  artist  had  exhausted  all  his  talent  in  giving  life  to 
these  inanimate  creatures.  An  exact  attention  to  Nature  was 
discoverable  in  the  imitation  of  the  various  dresses  and  arms  of 
the  hunters  :  and  though  this  fidelity  might  perhaps  be  somewhat 
carried  to  excess  in  the  painting  of  the  silks,  the  manes  of  the 
horses,  the  plumage  of  the  birds,  the  antlers  of  the  deer,  and 
the  talons  of  the  hawks,  yet  it  served  greatly  to  heighten  the 
effect.  After  paying  the  tribute  of  admiration  due  to  the  painter, 
the  spectator  is  led  to  consider  by  what  mechanical  resources, 
or  what  combination  of  genius,  he  could  have  succeeded  in  pro- 
ducing so  wonderful  a  work.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  believe 
it  to  be  the  creation  of  human  art  ;  the  pencil  seems  inade- 
quate to  produce  such  an  effect.  It  is  inconceivable  how  so 
many  different  objects  should  be  imitated  with  such  exact  fide- 
lity, without  the  employment  of  a  different  process  for  each. 
Whether  a  near  or  a  distant  view  be  taken,  the  surprise  of  the 
spectator  is  equally  great;  and  this  surprise  is  alike  excited  by 
the  effect,  and  the  uncertainty  by  which  it  is  produced. 

Our  journey  down  the  Rhine  was  extremely  agreeable.  The 
sight  of  that  vast  river  seemed  to  expand  the  imagination.  We 
arrived  at  Dusseldorf,  and  thence  proceeded  to  Pempelfort  ;  a 
delightful  place,  where  we  visited  a  family,  in  whom  were  com- 
bined the  charms  of  sensibility  and  talent.  The  family  circle 
was  increased  by  a  party  of  friends  eager  to  participate  in  the 
pleasures  of  a  most  agreeable  intimacy. 

The  gallery  of  pictures  at  Dusseldorf  afforded  abundant  en- 
couragement to  my  predilection  for  the  Flemish  school.  Whole 
rooms  were  filled  with  brilliant  specimens  of  vigorous  and  faith- 
ful  colouring  ;  and  if  the  contemplation  of  these  fine  works  was 


MELIUS  OF  GOETHE. 


not  calculated  to  extend  my  views  on  the  subject  of  art,  i  at 
least  had  the  advantage  of  acquiring  fresh  information,  and  of 
obtaining  a  new  excitement  to  my  taste  as  an  amateur. 

We  visited  Elberfeld.  and  saw  its  interesting  manufactures. 
At  this  place  we  again  found  our  old  friend  Jung-Stilling,  whom 
we  had  before  met  at  Coblentz.  He  still  considered  his  confi- 
dence in  God  and  his  sincerity  to  man  as  his  trust,  safeguard, 
and  support.  We  were  pleased  to  observe  the  credit  he  en- 
joyed with  his  fellow-citizens,  whose  eagerness  to  acquire  the 
good  things  of  this  world  did  not  prevent  them  from  paying  ho- 
mage to  virtues  of  a  superior  order.  The  aspect  of  Elberfeld 
is  calculated  to  satisfy  the  mind,  because  there  utility  is  the 
happy  result  of  the  love  of  order  and  of  virtue.  We  were 
extremely  interested  in  all  we  saw  during  our  stay  in  that  quarter. 

On  my  return  to  my  friend  Jacobi,  the  perfect  congeniality 
of  our  sentiments  filled  me  with  enthusiasm.  The  hope  of  ob- 
taining a  useful  result  from  the  concurrence  of  our  efforts,  ani- 
mated us  both.  I  pressed  him  to  develope  his  sentiments  aud 
ideas  in  some  work  which  might  bear  the  stamp  of  his  powerful 
genius.  It  was  by  ihis  means  that  1  had  disburthened  my  mind 
of  the  ideas  that  overwhelmed  me.  It  could  not  fail  to  succeed 
with  him  also.  He  set  to  work  with  promptitude  and  courage  ; 
he  gave  vent  to  the  noblest  inspirations,  and  I  had  reason  to  con- 
gratulate myself  on  having  instigated  him  to  the  task.  At  length 
we  separated,  happy  in  the  belief  of  our  immortal  union.  We 
were  far  from  foreseeing  that  our  efforts,  as  is  too  frequently  the 
case  in  life,  would  pursue  a  totally  different  direction. 

I  have  entirely  forgotten  all  that  occurred  to  me  during  my 
return  up  the  Rhine  ;  for  the  aspect  of  the  same  objects,  when 
seen  for  the  second  time,  is  confounded  with  the  first  impres- 
sions. Besides,  I  was,  during  this  last  journey,  enveioped  in 
reminiscences  and  reflections.  I  was  entirely  occupied  in  re- 
calling, in  some  measure,  the  sentiments  1  had  experienced,  and 
in  meditating  on  all  that  had  so  powerfully  t  xcited  my  ideas. 
The  result  of  all  this  was  singular  enough,  and  the  efforts  which 
J  made  to  arrive  at  it  occupied  me  long  and  seriously. 

Amidst  the  aberration  of  my  feelings,  and  the  inequalities  of 
a  life  devoid  of  any  determinate  plan,  1  could  not  help  observing 
that  Lavater  and  Basedow  employed  their  faculties  in  the  pur- 
suit of  an  object  entirely  of  a  worldly  nature.  I  had  not  failed 
to  observe  that  these  two  men,  while  they  endeavoured  to  in- 
culcate and  propagate  a  doctrine,  each  in  his  own  way,  secretly 
kept  in  view  some  favourite  idea,  some  plan  to  the  at  ta  in  me.  t  of 
which  they  attached  high  importance.  Lavater  proceeded  with 
prudence  and  delicacy.  Violence,  boldness,  and  even  coarse- 
ness, marked  the  manners  of  Basedow.  Convinced,  as  they 
were  both,  of  the  nobleness  of  their  views  and  sentiments,  they 
had  a  right  to  command  esteem,  attachment,  and  respect.  With 
regard  to  Lavater,  in  particular,  it  was  evident,  to  his  honour, 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOËTHL. 


269 


tnat  he  had  an  exalted  object  in  view  ;  and  that  if,  lor  its  attain- 
ment, he  listened  to  the  dictates  of  worldly  prudence,  the  sanc- 
tity of  the  end  appeared  to  him  to  sanctify  the  means.  While  I 
observed  them  both,  while  1  freely  expressed  to  them  my  opi- 
nions, and  initiated  myself  into  their  ideas,  1  perfect])  under- 
stood how  a  man  of  superior  genius  should  desire  to  turn  to  the 
advantage  of  his  fellow-ereatures  the  divine  faculties  which  he 
is  conscious  he  possesses.  But,  having  to  do  with  men  of  grosser 
intellects,  he  is  compelled,  in  order  to  secure  their  friend- 
ship, to  lower  himself  to  their  lev  el  ;  and  this  necessity  degrades 
his  eminent  qualities  by  assimilating  him  to  his  inferiors.  1  hus 
the  celestial  powers  of  genius  are  depreciated  b)  an  amalgama- 
tion with  vvoridly  speculations;  and  views  directed  to  eternity 
lose  their  sublimity,  -nd  become  narrowed  by  their  application 
to  ephemeral  objects. 

When  I  considered  the  plans  of  Lavater  and  Basedow  under 
this  point  of  view,  and  reflected  on  the  necessity  of  their  sacri- 
ficing, sooner  or  later,  their  sublime  conceptions  to  vulgar  means, 
I  found  them  as  much  entitled  to  pity  as  to  respect.  Overstep- 
ping the  nnrrow  limits  of  my  own  experience,  I  weighed  ali  the 
chances  of  these  speculations.  1  found  that  history  presented 
situations  completely  similar.  It  was  thus  that  I  conceived  the 
idea  of  borrowing,  from  the  series  of  events  which  compose  the 
life  of  Mahomet,  the  groundwork  of  a  dramatic  representation 
of  those  bold  enterprises  so  forcibly  presented  to  my  mind  ;  and 
which,  though  determined  by  noble  feelings,  too  frequently  end 
in  crime.  I  never  could  look  upon  the  Eastern  Prophet  as  an 
impostor.  I  had  just  read  with  the  deepest  interest,  and  care- 
fully  studied  his  history  ;  and  i  therefore  felt  my -elf  quite  pre- 
pared for  the  execution  of  m)  plan.  1  chose  a  form  approxi- 
mating to  that  of  the  regular  drama,  to  which  my  inclination 
already  led  me  ;  though  I  adopted,  with  a  certain  reserve,  the 
license  recently  assumed  in  Germany,  of  freely  disposing  of  time 
and  place. 

The  piece  opens  with  a  hymn  by  Mahomet  alone.  The  scene 
is  supposed  to  represent  a  Slight  and  serene  night.  Mahomet 
salutes  the  multitude  of  stars  as  so  many  divinities.  To  the  pro- 
pitious planet  Gad  (our  Jupiter.)  th  n  rising  above  the  horizon, 
he  pays  special  homage  as  the  king  of  ail  the  stars.  The  moon 
next  appears,  and  captivates  for  a  while  the  eyes  and  the  heart 
of  the  pious  adorer  of  Nature.  Presently  the  brilliant  rising  of 
the  sun  excites  him  to  renewed  homage.  But  the  aspect  of  the 
heavenly  bod;e.-,  notwithstanding  the  satisfaction  with  which 
they  inspir<  him,  leaves  his  heart  a  prey  to  desire.  He  feels 
that  there  is  still  something  greater  and  his  soul  is  elevated  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  only,  eternal,  and  infinite  God,  to  whom 
all  things  owe  their  existence.  1  had  composed  this  hymn  with 
the  deepest  enthusiasm.  It  is  now  lost  but  it  may  still  form 
the  subject  of  a  cantata,  which  would  afford  the  musical  com- 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


poser  a  vast  field  for  variety  of  expression.  But  he  who  would  un- 
dertake the  task  should  make  himself  familiar  with  the  situation 
of  Mahomet,  as  the  conductor  of  a  caravan,  surrounded  by  his 
family  and  his  tribe.  He  would  find  ample  resources  for  the 
alternations  of  voice  and  the  formation  of  a  fine  chorus. 

Mahomet,  having  thus  converted  himself,  communicates  his 
sentiments  and  his  creed  to  his  family.  Ali  and  his  own  wife 
become  his  zealous  proselytes.  In  the  second  act  he  labours  to 
propagate  his  faith  among  his  tribe  ;  and  Ali  seconds  his  efforts 
with  the  greatest  ardour.  Enthusiasm  or  aversion  are  then  ma- 
nifested, according  to  the  difference  of  the  characters.  Discord 
breaks  forth,  the  contest  becomes  violent,  and  Mahomet  is  com- 
pelled to  fly.  In  the  third  act  he  triumphs  over  his  adversaries, 
establishes  his  religion  as  the  public  faith,  and  purifies  the  Kaaba 
of  the  idols  which  polluted  it  ;  but,  not  being  able  to  carry  every 
thing  by  force,  he  has  recourse  to  stratagem  Human  means  are 
developed  and  extended,  while  the  divine  object  is  forgotten, 
and  the  heavenly  light  is  obscured.  In  the  fourth  act  Mahomet 
pursues  his  course  of  conquest.  His  doctrine  serves  him  rather 
as  a  pretext  than  as  an  object.  He  has  recourse  to  all  the  usual 
means  of  success,  without  recoiling  even  from  acts  of  cruelty. 
A  woman,  whose  husband  he  had  caused  to  be  put  to  death,  admi- 
nisters poison  to  him  In  the  fifth  act  he  experiences  its  effects. 
His  sublime  genius,  his  repentance,  his  return  to  sentiments 
more  worthy  of  himself,  command  admiration.  He  purifies  his 
doctrine,  consolidates  his  power,  and  dies. 

Such  was  the  design  of  a  work  which  was  long  the  subject  of 
my  meditations  ;  for  I  generally  liked  to  settle  a  plan  in  my  mind 
previously  to  entering  upon  a  work.  I  had  to  paint  in  this  poem 
all  the  effects  produced  upon  mankind  by  the  efforts  of  genius, 
aide^  by  the  resources  of  character  and  ability — their  successes 
and  disappointments.  I  had  composed  several  songs  which  I 
intended  to  introduce  into  my  piece.  Only  one  of  these  remains 
in  the  collection  of  my  poems,  under  the  title  of  "  the  Song  of 
Mahomet."  My  intention  was  that  Ali  should  recite  this  song 
in  honour  of  his  master  at  the  height  of  his  prosperity,  and  shortly 
before  the  catastrophe  produced  by  the  poison.  I  recollect  the 
intention  of  introducing  some  other  fragments;  but  longer  de- 
tails would  carry  me  too  far. 


MEMOIRS  OP  (ÏOËTHfc- 


2Y1 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Amidst  all  these  distractions,  which,  however,  frequently 
brought  me  back  to  serious  and  religious  thoughts,  I  returned 
always  with  increased  pleasure  to  the  society  of  my  respected 
friend  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg.  Her  presence  calmed, 
for  a  time  at  least,  my  erring  inclinations  and  tumultuous  pas- 
sions. I  might  easily  have  observed  that  her  health  was  daily 
declining,  but  I  endeavoured  to  conceal  this  misfortune  even 
from  myself  ;  and  this  was  so  much  the  more  easy,  as  her  cheer- 
fulness seemed  to  increase  with  the  progress  of  her  disorder. 
She  generally  sat,  attired  with  a  certain  degree  of  elegance,  in 
her  easy  chair  near  a  window,  and  listened  with  good-humoured 
attention  while  I  read  to  her,  or  gave  her  an  account  of  my  ex- 
cursions. I  frequently  sketched  the  spots  which  1  had  remarked, 
to  enable  her  the  better  to  understand  my  descriptions.  She  was 
particularly  fond  of  hearing  me  read  the  letters  of  the  Mission- 
aries ;  and  when  I  happened  to  advocate  the  people  whom  they 
sought  to  convert,  and  to  declare  that  I  preferred  the  primitive 
state  of  those  ignorant  nations  to  that  to  which  they  had  been 
brought,  she  never  once  forgot  her  usual  gentleness  of  disposi- 
tion and  her  friendship  for  me,  nor  seemed  the  less  to  trust  in 
my  salvation. 

But  I  found  myself  every  day  more  and  more  disunited  from 
the  sect  which  she  had  embraced,  precisely  by  the  same  ardent 
zeal  which  had  led  me  to  join  it.  Since  I  had  connected  myself 
with  the  Moravian  brethren,  my  attachment  to  that  community, 
united  as  it  was  under  the  triumphant  standard  of  Christ,  had 
continued  to  increase.  The  circumstances  which  most  attaches 
men  to  a  positive  religion,  is  the  interest  which  its  origin  inspires. 
This  is  the  source  of  the  pleasure  we  experience  in  carrying 
ourselves  back  to  the  time  of  the  apostles — to  that  happy  age 
in  which  religion  appears  in  her  primitive  colours.  The  appa- 
rent continuation  of  this  simplicity — the  perpetuity,  as  it  were, 
of  primitive  Christianity  gave  a  magic  influence  to  the  society 
of  the  Moravian  brethren.  They  traced  back  the  origin  of  their 
sect  to  the  first  ages  of  the  church.  Its  duration  appeared 
never  to  have  been  interrupted  ;  but  to  have  slipped  through  all 
the  intricacies  of  this  world,  like  an  imperceptible  thread.  It 
now  half  disclosed  itself,  under  the  protection  of  a  man  as  emi- 
nent for  his  piety  as  for  his  birth.  It  was  ready  once  more  to 
strike  its  roots  into  the  world  by  insensible  efforts,  and,  as  it 
were,  under  favour  of  chance.  The  distinctive  feature  of  this 
society  was  the  indissoluble  union  of  its  religious  constitution 
with  its  civil  existence.  The  charge  of  propounding  the  re- 
ligious doctrine  was  united  in  the  same  hands  with  the  magis- 


272 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOKTHE. 


tracy  ;  the  duties  of  the  pastor  were  blended  with  the  functions 
of  the  judge.  Even  the  spiritual  superior,  while  unlimited  faith 
was  due  to  him  in  matters  of  religion,  had  the  direction  of  tem- 
poral affairs.  His  decisions  on  subjects  of  general  interest,  and 
on  private  cases,  were  received  as  though  they  had  been  the 
decrees  of  fate.  The  concord  which  prevailed  in  this  society, 
and  which  was  announced  by  every  external  sign,  conciliated 
affection,  whilst  its  missions  excited  in  every  direction  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  human  heart.  The  secretary  of  legation  Moritz, 
who  was  the  agent  of  Count  Isemberg,  bad  taken  me  to  the 
synod  of  Marienborn.  I  there  made  acquaintance  with  some 
men  of  high  merit,  who  had  inspired  me  with  a  sincere  vene- 
ration, and  it  only  remained  for  them  to  enrol  me  in  their  so- 
ciety. I  studied  their  history,  their  doctrine,  origin,  and  pro- 
gress. I  soon  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing  with  adepts 
on  the  subject  ;  but  I  found  that  they  placed  as  little  faith  in 
my  Christianity  as  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg  herself.  This 
at  first  annoyed  me  ;  but  I  soon  found  that  my  zeal  for  the 
community  began  to  cool.  I  long  sought  in  vain  to  discover 
what  was  the  grand  point  of  difference  between  us,  and  chance 
at  length  made  me  acquainted  with  it.  The  circumstance  which 
separated  me  from  the  Moravian  brethren,  as  well  as  from  many 
other  worthy  Christians,  was  an  opinion  which  had  already  more 
than  once  divided  the  church.  Some  maintained  that  human 
nature  was  so  far  corrupted  by  sin,  as  to  possess  no  means  of 
salvation  within  itself  ;  so  that  according  to  this  doctrine,  man- 
kind have  nothing  to  expect  from  their  own  efforts,  and  have 
no  hope  but  through  the  interposition  of  Divine  favour.  Others, 
while  they  acknowledge  the  hereditary  imperfection  of  man, 
discover  in  his  disposition  a  happy  germ,  which,  cherished  by 
Divine  favour,  may  at  length  produce  the  Iruits  of  virtue,  that 
noble  guarantee  of  celestial  happiness.  To  this  latter  idea  I 
became  deeply  and  almost  unconsciously  attached,  though  in 
my  conversation  and  in  my  writings  i  had  manifested  a  contrary 
opinion.  But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  a  complete  understand- 
ing on  this  subject,  while  the  dilemma,  which  removes  all  inde- 
cision, had  not  come  under  my  consideration.  I  was  suddenly 
drawn  from  my  illusion.  Convinced  of  the  innocence  of  my 
opinion,  I  expressed  it  openly  in  a  religious  conference.  dy 
sincerity  procured  me  a  severe  reprimand.  My  doctri  e  was 
declared  to  be  nothing  less  than  the  heresy  of  Peiagius,  which 
it  was  said  had  unfortunately  acquired  but  too  many  parti-  ins 
in  the  present  age.  I  was  surprised,  and  even  alarmed,  at  this 
discovery.  1  once  more  consulted  the  annals  of  the  Church. 
After  attentively  studying  the  doctrines  and  the  history  of  Pe- 
iagius, I  found  that  for  a«^es  past  opinions  had  been  divided  be- 
tween these  two  opposite  and  irreconcilable  creeds,  respecting 
the  nature  of  man  since  the  fall  ;  and  that  individuals  had  formed 
their  decision  only  according  to  their  natural  energy  or  resig- 
nation. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


273 


For  some  years  past  the  events  of  my  life  having*  compelled 
me  to  call  my  own  powers  into  action,  I  devoted  myself  with  ar- 
dent zeal  and  unremitting  activity  to  the  cultivation  of  my  mental 
faculties.    I  found  it  necessary  to  regulate  their  employment, 
and  to  render  them  useful  to  others.    This  task  imposed  upon 
me  unremitting  exertions  :  my  mind  was  wholly  directed  to 
Nature,  who  appeared  to  me  in  all  her  magnificence.    I  was 
connected  with  men  full  of  sincerity  and  virtue,  who  were  ready 
to  make  every  sacrifice  in  fulfilment  of  their  duty.    To  be  false 
to  them,  to  be  false  to  myself,  was  alike  impossible.    A  deep 
abyss  separated  me  from  a  doctrine  which  my  soul  rejected.  I 
was,  therefore,obiiged  to  withdraw  from  the  Moravian  brethren  ; 
but  I  could  not  divest  myself  of  my  attachment  to  the  Sacred 
Writings,  to  the  founder  of  Christianity,  and  to  his  first  disciples. 
I  accordingly  formed  a  religion  after  my  own  mind  ;  and  I 
sought  to  establish  and  confirm  it  on  a  profound  study  of  history, 
and  on  a  correct  knowledge  of  all  that  tended,  by  approxima- 
tion, to  corroborate  my  creed. 

Every  object  to  which  I  enthusiastically  devoted  myself,  im- 
mediately appeared  to  me  under  poetic  forms  and  colours.  I 
thus  conceived  the  singular  idea  of  taking  the  life  of  the  im- 
mortal and  wandering  Jew,  as  the  subject  of  a  kind  of  epopee. 
Popular  tales  of  fiction  had,  from  my  childhood,  inspired  me 
with  a  predilection  for  this  narrative.  It  was  calculated  to  afford 
me  an  opportunity  of  treating  the  different  points  of  religion 
and  its  history,  which  so  powerfully  occupied  my  thoughts. 
The  story  of  the  work,  and  the  meaning  which  i  attached  to 
it,  were  as  follows. 

There  lived  in  Jerusalem  an  artisan,  to  whom  the  legend  as- 
signs the  name  of  Ahasvérus.  My  shoemaker  of  Dresden  fur- 
nished me  with  a  model  for  the  character  of  this  Jew.  I  paint- 
ed him  with  the  good-humour  and  jovial  spirit  of  Hans  Sachse, 
and  his  attachment  for  Christ  served  to  ennoble  his  character. 
When  working  in  his  shop,  Ahasvérus  loved  to  converse  with 
the  people  who  passed  by.  He  joked  with  them,  and  address- 
ed each  in  his  own  language,  after  the  manner  of  Socrates. 
His  neighbours  were  fond  of  his  society.  The  Pharisees  and 
the  Sadducees  came  to  see  him,  and  even  the  Saviour  and  his 
disciples  occasionally  visited  him.  Ahasvérus,  though  his  mind 
is  directed  to  worldly  interest,  nevertheless  conceives  a  sincere 
love  for  Christ  ;  and  he  imagines  that  the  best  means  of  proving 
his  attachment  to  the  Sublime  Being,  is  to  bring  him  over  to 
his  own  way  of  thinking.  He  urges  the  Saviour  to  renounce 
his  contemplative  life,  to  give  up  wandering  with  the  idle  multi- 
tude, and  inducing  the  people  to  leave  their  work  to  follow  him 
to  the  desert.  An  assembled  multitude,  he  says,  is  ever  ripe 
for  insurrection,  and  can  never  effect  any  good  object. 

The  Saviour,  on  the  contrary,  endeavours  by  parables  to  ex* 
plain  his  elevated  object  and  views  ;  but  they  make  no  impression 

M  m 


274 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


on  the  rude  mind  of  the  mechanic.  Meanwhile,  the  influence 
and  ascendency  of  Jesus  daily  gain  ground,  and  the  good  artisan 
appeals  to  him  the  more  urgently.  Christ,  he  concludes,  will 
soon  be  obliged  to  declare  himself  the  leader  of  a  party,  which 
cannot  be  his  intention.  After  the  condemnation  of  the  Sa- 
viour, Ahasvérus  to  his  astonishment  sees  Judas  enter  his  shop 
in  despair.  This  disciple,  who  to  appearance  has  betrayed  the 
Lord,  with  tears  relates  the  fatal  event  of  which  he  has  been  the 
cause.  He,  like  many  more  able  partisans  of  the  Saviour,  had 
concluded  that  Jesus  would  head  the  people,  and  declare  himself 
king  ;  and  he  determined,  by  the  adoption  of  a  desperate  step, 
to  put  a  period  to  the  delays  of  his  Master.  With  this  view  he 
instigated  the  priests  to  adopt  measures  of  rigour  from  which 
they  had  hitherto  refrained.  For  Christ's  defence  he  trusted 
to  the  zeal  of  his  partisans  ;  and  their  success  would  have  been 
certain,  had  not  the  Saviour,  by  surrendering  himself,  plunged 
into  the  abyss.  This  statement,  far  from  exciting  the  indulgence 
of  Ahasvérus,  exasperates  him  against  the  unhappy  apostle, 
who,  finding,  that  all  have  turned  against  him,  puts  a  period  to 
his  existence. 

Jesus,  when  led  to  execution,  passes  by  the  dwelling  of  Ahas- 
vérus. Then  ensues  the  scene  described  in  the  New  Testament. 
The  Saviour  sinks  under  the  burthen  of  the  cross,  and  Simon  the 
Cyrenean  is  directed  to  bear  it,  Ahasvérus  is  actuated  by  that 
harshness  of  disposition  which  deprives  man  of  all  compassion 
for  one  who  brings  misfortune  upon  himself,  and  leads  him  to 
augment  the  misery  of  the  sufferer,  by  the  bitterness  of  mis- 
placed reproach.  He  comes  out  of  his  house,  reminds  Christ 
of  all  the  advice  he  has  given  him,  and  makes  the  attachment  he 
bears  for  him  the  privilege  of  indulging  in  reproof.  Jesus  re- 
mains silent  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  pious  Veronica  removes  the  veil 
with  which  she  has  shaded  the  brow  of  the  Lord,  the  counte- 
nance of  Christ  appears  to  Ahasvérus,  not  with  the  expression 
of  suffering  and  sorrow,  but  transfigured,  and  beaming  with  ce- 
lestial glory.  Dazzled  by  this  spectacle,  the  Jew  turns  away, 
and  his  ear  is  struck  with  these  words  :  "  Thou  shalt  wander  on 
the  earth  until  I  again  appear  before  thee  in  the  same  splendour." 
Ahasvérus  is  filled  with  dismay.  Recovering  himself  by  de- 
grees, he  sees  the  crowd  hurrying  towards  the  place  of  execu- 
tion, and  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  are  deserted.  He  then  com- 
mences his  wandering  life. 

Perhaps  I  may  at  another  opportunity  more  fully  describe  the 
adventures  of  the  Jew,  and  the  incident  which  closes,  though  it 
does  not  conclude  the  piece.  I  had  composed  the  commence- 
ment, some  fragments,  and  the  close,  without  fixing  upon  a  con- 
nected plan  for  the  whole.  I  could  not  devote  sufficient  time  to 
ihe  work,  in  order  to  impart  to  it  the  character  I  had  conceived  ; 
and  I  therefore  threw  my  scattered  fragments  together  in  a  dis- 
connected way.    A  circumstance  of  my  life,  relating  to  the  pe- 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


215 


nod  of  the  composition  of  Werther,  and  the  effects  produced  by 
that  work,  then  absorbed  my  whole  attention. 

The  common  lot  of  mankind,  which  all  must  endure,  is  a  bur- 
then peculiarly  felt  by  men  of  the  most  precocious  and  extended 
mental  powers.  Whether  we  are  brought  up  under  the  care  of 
our  parents,  whether  we  look  for  support  in  the  affection  of  a 
brother  or  a  friend,  or  whether  we  find  our  happiness  in  love, 
man  must  always  definitively  seek  for  his  principal  resource  within 
himself.  Even  in  his  relations  with  the  Deity,  he  will  not  al- 
ways— or,  at  least,  not  in  the  moment  of  need — meet  with  a  re- 
turn for  his  respect,  his  love,  and  his  confidence.  How  often, 
even  in  my  youth,  has  something  whispered  to  me,  "  Assist  thy- 
self!1' How  often  have  I  not  sorrowfully  exclaimed,  64  Will  no 
one  come  to  my  aid  ?"  My  creative  talent  always  furnished  me 
with  the  surest  means  of  inward  satisfaction  and  support.  For 
several  years  past  1  had  always  found  it  ready  at  command. 
The  objects  which  had  occupied  my  attention  during  the  day. 
often  reappeared  to  me  at  night  in  connected  dreams.  On  awa- 
kening, a  new  composition,  or  a  poriion  of  one  that  1  had  al- 
ready commenced,  presented  itself  to  my  mind.  In  the  morn- 
ing I  was  accustomed  to  record  my  ideas  on  paper  ;  and  1  was 
again  ready  to  compose  in  the  evening,  or  at  night  when  excited 
by  wine,  or  animated  by  conversation.  My  fancy  was  ever 
ready  to  seize  every  subject  that  occurred  to  me.  When  !  re- 
flected on  this  faculty,  independent  as  it  was  of  any  external  im- 
pulse or  obstacle,  I  evidently  perceived  that  it  formed  the  basis 
of  my  moral  existence.  I  was  reminded  of  the  story  of  Pro- 
metheus, who,  without  the  help  of  the  gods,  peopled  a  world 
with  beings  of  his  own  creation.  I  was  convinced  of  the  neces- 
sity of  solitude  for  every  production  of  importance.  My  most 
successful  works  had  all  been  the  offsprings  of  solitude.  My 
more  frequent  and  extended  intercourse  with  society  did  not,  it 
is  true,  deprive  me  of  the  power  or  the  pleasure  of  invention  ;  it 
merely  impeded  me  in  execution.  Not  having  yet  formed  for 
myself  any  fixed  style  either  in  verse  or  prose,  1  was  continually 
reduced  to  the  necessity  of  making  new  experiments  and  disco- 
veries. Determined  to  rely  solely  on  my  own  resources,  I 
withdrew  myself  from  man,  as  Prometheus  withdrew  himself 
from  the  gods,  and  this  resolution  was  the  more  congenial  with 
my  temper  and  feelings,  for  my  whole  mind  was  occupied  with 
the  idea  which  had  then  seized  me. 

1  revolved  in  my  mind  the  fable  of  Prometheus.  Having  ad- 
justed to  my  own  form  the  ancient  robe  of  the  Titans,  I  com- 
menced, without  any  long  preliminary  reflection,  a  work,  the 
subject  of  which  was  the  indignation  manifested  by  Jupiter  and 
the  other  deities  against  Prometheus,  for  having  created  man3 
animated  him  with  life,  and  founded  a  third  dynasty.  These  acts, 
indeed,  could  not  but  excite  in  the  utmost  degree  the  irritation 
of  the  gods  :  for  the  sovereigns  of  the  universe  were  thus  reAu 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE, 


ced  to  an  insignificant  and  usurped  rank  between  the  Titans  and 
men.  To  this  singular  composition  I  prefixed  that  monologue 
in  verse,  which  has  since  become  so  celebrated  in  German  lite- 
rature, as  the  accidental  cause  of  the  misunderstanding  between 
Lessing  and  Jacobi  on  some  important  questions  of  philosophy 
and  sentimental  metaphysics.  This  spark  produced  a  violent 
explosion  :  my  poems  prompted  Lessing  and  Jacobi  to  an  avowal 
of  their  most  secret  sentiments,  which  their  minds,  enlightened 
as  they  were,  had  hitherto  cherished  unconsciously.  The  dis- 
pute was  maintained  with  violence  ;  and,  by  a  combination  of 
fortuitous  circumstances,  it  proved  the  cause  of  the  unexpected 
death  of  one  of  our  most  illustrious  writers,  the  celebrated  Men- 
delssohn. 

Philosophic  and  religious  considerations'were,  doubtless,  natu- 
rally enough  connected  with  the  subject  I  had  treated  :  this  sub- 
ject was,  however,  essentially  poetic.  The  idea  of  the  Titans 
in  polytheism  is  nearly  similar  to  that  of  the  Devil  in  theism. 
Both  may  be  regarded  as  absurdities.  However,  neither  the 
Devil,  nor  God,  of  whom  he  is  made  the  adversary,  have  pro- 
perly a  poetic  character.  Milton's  Satan,  though  portrayed 
with  masterly  genius,  has  still  the  great  disadvantage  of  a  subal- 
tern situation  in  all  his  efforts  to  destroy  the  magnificent  creation 
of  a  Supreme  Being.  Prometheus,  on  the  contrary,  plays  a 
noble  part,  for  he  creates  and  produces  in  despite  of  the  gods 
themselves.  It  is  also  a  more  poetic  idea  to  attribute  the  for- 
mation of  man,  not  to  the  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  universe,  but 
to  an  intermediate  being,  who,  by  his  descent  from  the  ancient 
dynasty  of  the  sovereigns  of  the  world,  obtains  a  sufficient  de- 
gree of  grandeur  and  dignity.  Indeed  the  Greek  mythology 
presents  an  inexhaustible  source  of  significant  allegories  relating 
to  man  and  the  Deity. 

My  poetic  inspiration  was  not,  however,  derived  from  the 
efforts  of  the  giants  to  gain  admittance  into  heaven.  1  prefer- 
red painting  that  calm,  patient,  and  in  some  measure,  plastic  op- 
position, which  acknowledges  the  Supreme  Power,  and  at  the 
same  time  aspires  to  rival  it.  The  bold  race  of  Tantalus,  ixion, 
and  Sisyphus,  furnished  me  with  saints  for  my  mythology.  When 
admitted  into  the  society  of  the  gods  they  had  been  -  anting  in 
due  deference.  These  arrogant  guests  had  incurred  the  displea- 
sure of  their  heavenly  entertainers  ;  and  their  disregard  of  the 
favour  they  had  enjoyed,  brought  upon  them  the  most  pitiable 
punishments.  Their  fate,  which  the  ancients  conceived  to  be  a 
subject  worthy  of  the  tragic  muse,  excited  my  deepest  interest. 
When,  in  my  Iphige7iia,  1  introduced  them  in  the  back-ground  of 
the  picture,  as  the  formidable  adversaries  of  the  gods,  1  was  in 
a  great  measure  indebted  to  this  idea,  for  the  success  of  my 
work. 

At  this  period  I  was  alternately  occupied  with  poetry  and 
painting.    I  drew  profile  portraits  of  my  friends.    While  1  was 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


dictating,  or  while  any  one  was  reading  to  me,  1  sketched  the 
figure  of  my  secretary  or  my  reader.  The  fidelity  of  my  pen- 
cil was  admired  but  this  is  an  advantage  generally  enjoyed  by 
amateurs  who  give  away  their  works  as  presents.  I  did  not, 
however,  allow  myself  to  be  deceived  respecting  the  merit  of  my 
sketches  ;  and  I  soon  turned  to  the  composition  of  prose  and 
poetry,  in  which  I  certainly  succeeded  better.  A  vast  number 
of  poems  of  different  kinds  attest  the  enthusiasm  for  nature  and 
for  art  with  which  I  was  at  this  period  inspired  ;  and  also  bear 
evidence  of  the  cheerfulness  and  activity  with  which  i  prosecuted 
my  literary  labours  My  friends  and  1  found  our  zeal  increased 
in  proportion  to  the  numerous  occupations  to  which  we  devoted 
ourselves. 

I  was  one  day  writing  in  my  chamber,  which  being  partly  shut 
up,  and  hung  round  with  sketches,  had  the  appearance  of  an 
artist's  study.  A  gentleman  unexpectedly  entered.  In  the  dim 
light  of  the  apartment,  the  contour  of  his  figure  at  first  induced 
me  to  suppose  it  was  Frederick  Jacobi  ;  but  1  soon  discovered 
my  mistake,  and  I  received  my  visiter  with  the  politeness  due  to 
a  stranger.  From  his  elegant  and  easy  manners  1  guessed  that 
he  was  a  military  officer.  He  informed  me  that  his  name  was 
Von  Knebel.  lie  had  been  in  the  Prussian  service  ;  and  dur- 
ing a  long  residence  in  Berlin  and  Potsdam,  he  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  most  distinguished  men  in  those  two  cities, 
and  indeed  with  all  the  principal  literary  characters  of  Germany. 
He  was  particularly  attached  to  Ramier,  by  whom  he  had  been 
taught  to  recite  poetry.  He  was  acquainted  with  the  writings 
of  Goëtz,  who,  however,  had  not  yet  acquired  celebrity  in  lite- 
rature. M.  Von  Knebel  printed  at  Hotsdam  Ramler's  Island  of 
Maidens,  and  presented  the  poem  to  Frederick  the  Great, 
who  expressed  his  opinion  of  it  in  a  way  very  complimentary  to 
the  author. 

In  the  course  of  a  long  conversation  on  German  literature,  I 
learned  that  M.  Von  Knebel  was  established  at  Weimar  as  tutor 
to  Prince  Constantine.  I  had  already  formed  a  high  opinion  of 
the  good  taste  of  the  Court  of  Weimar.  1  knew  that  the 
Dutchess  Amelia  had  appointed  men  of  the  first  rate  ability  to 
superintend  the  education  of  her  sons  ;  and  several  distinguished 
professors  of  the  academy  of  Jena  contributed  their  efforts  towards 
forming  the  minds  of  the  young  princes.  The  Dutchess  was  not 
only  a  liberal  patroness  of  the  fine  arts,  but  she  herself  cultivated 
them  with  zeal  and  success  Wieland  was  in  high  favour  with  her. 
The  German  Mercury,  in  the  management  of  which  so  many 
distinguished  literary  men  co-operated,  contributed  not  a  iittle 
to  the  celebrity  of  the  city  in  which  it  was  published.  That  city 
possessed  one  of  the  best  theatres  in  Germany;  it  was  celebrated 
for  the  talent  of  the  actors  and  the  authors  by  whom  it  was  sup- 
ported. The  dreadful  fire  by  which  it  had  been  destroyed  in  the 
month  of  May  preceding,  threatened,  indeed,  to  suspend  its  sue- 


278 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


cess  for  a  time  ;  but  hopes  were  confidently  entertained  that  the 
liberality  of  the  hereditary  prince  would  promptly  repair  the 
mischief,  (n  the  course  of  my  conversation  with  Von  Knebel, 
he  had  perceived  that  Ï  was  not  ignorant  of  the  love  for  art, 
science,  and  literature  cherished  at  the  court  of  Weimar.  I 
expiessed  a  wish  to  become  acquainted  with  the  individuals 
about  that  court;  and  M.  Von  Knebel  assured  me  that  nothing 
was  easier,  since  the  hereditary  prince  and  his  brother,  prince 
Consta  tine,  were  then  at  Frankfort,  and  were  anxious  to  see  me. 
But  ihere  was  no  time  for  delay,  as  the  princes  were  not  to  re- 
main long  at  Frankfort.  I  presented  him  to  my  parents,  who 
were  much  pleased  with  his  conversation,  and  not  a  little  sur- 
prised at  his  mission.  I  lost  no  time  in  accompanying  him  to 
Frankfort,  where  I  experienced  the  most  agreeable  reception 
from  the  young  princes.  Count  Von  Goertz,  the  tutor  of  the 
hereditary  pnnce,  also  expressed  himself  glad  to  see  me.  We 
could  not  be  at  a  loss  for  topics  of  literary  conversation;  but 
chance  introduced  a  subject  of  the  happiest  kind. 

1  perceived  on  the  table  a  new  publication,  which  had  not  yet 
been  opened.  It  was  the  first  part  of  Vloeser's  Patriotic  Fancies, 
The  work  was  no  stranger  to  me  ;  but  no  other  individual  then 
present  knew  any  thing  of  it.  I  therefore  undertook  to  give  them 
an  idea  of  it.  This  1  regarded  as  a  fortunate  subject  of  conver- 
sation with  a  young  and  enlightened  prince,  who  was  enthusias- 
tically resolved  to  promote  the  public  welfare.  The  subject  and 
the  spirit  of  Moeser's  work  rendered  it  in  the  highest  degree 
interesting  to  every  German.  Instead  of  advancing  common- 
place objections  to  the  parcelling  out  of  the  German  empire,  and 
denouncing  the  anarchy  and  weakness  which  many  supposed 
would  ensue  from  that  measure,  the  profound  wisdom  of  Moeser 
led  him  to  regard  the  division  of  the  great  body  into  a  multitude 
of  small  states,  as  being  very  favourable  to  the  efforts  and  pro- 
gress of  individuals,  in  the  relations  of  that  progress  with  the 
wants,  the  situation,  and  the  advantages  of  each  province.  Ri- 
sing above  the  local  interests  of  the  little  circle  of  Osnabruck,  his 
views  were  extended  to  the  interests  of  the  circle  of  Westphalia. 
He  pointed  out  their  connexion  with  the  general  interests  of  the 
empire,  of  the  condition  of  which  he  formed  an  admirable  esti- 
mate. He  explained  the  connexion  between  the  present  and  the 
past,  and  b)  showing  the  influence  of  previous  events  on  the 
present  situation  of  affairs  he  clearly  proved  the  utility  or  the 
danger  of  reform.  He  recommended  all  individuals  in  authority 
to  pursue  the  same  course,  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  consti- 
tution of  their  respective  countries,  to  seize  the  points  of  contact 
which  blended  their  interests  with  those  of  the  neighbouring- 
states  and  the  empire,  and  thus  to  form  a  correct  idea  of  the  in- 
evitable ascendency  of  the  present  over  the  future. 

Our  conversation  was  maintained  on  analogous  subjects.  We 
spoke  of  the  distinctive  differences  between  the  States  of  Upper 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


279 


and  Lower  Saxony,  the  primitive  varieties  in  local  productions, 
manners,  and  customs,  which  from  the  earliest  periods  had  given 
a  peculiar  direction  to  the  legislature  and  government  of  these 
states.  We  endeavoured  to  mark  with  precision  the  distinctive 
characteristics  of  the  two  states,  and  we  were  convinced  of  the 
advantage  of  possessing  a  good  model  ;  for  though  it  might  not" 
be  possible  to  appiy  it  literally  in  all  its  parts,  yet  it  wouid  sug- 
gest a  plan  which  might  be  adopted  according  to  circumstances. 
The  conversation  was  carried  on  to  a  considerable  length,  and 
an  opinion  was  formed  of  me  more  advantageous  than  I  deserved. 
It  had  probably  been  expected  that  I  should  have  conversed  on 
those  subjects  on  which  my  attention  was  habitually  engaged, 
such  as  romances,  dramas,  &c.  to  which,  perhaps,  but  little  at- 
tention would  have  been  paid.  But  on  the  contrary,  I  had  en- 
tered upon  a  dissertation  on  Moeser's  work.  I  found  my  mind 
in  unison  with  the  grave  meditations  of  that  profound  writer, 
whom  the  realities  of  active  life  had  inspired  with  reflections  of 
immediate  utility  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  poetr^  must  be 
brought  from  the  sphere  in  which  it  hovers  between  the  moral 
and  the  physical  world,  before  even  a  reflection  of  accidental 
utility  can  be  derived  from  its  inspirations.  Our  conversation 
reminded  me  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  where  an  interesting  subject 
is  often  episodically  introduced,  and  interrupts  the  no  less  inte- 
resting narrative.  We  had  touched  upon  several  important 
subjects,  but  had  not  the  opportunity  of  discussing  them  deeply, 
and  as  the  young  princes  were  soon  to  quit  Frankfort,  they  re- 
quested that  I  would  follow  them  to  Mentz,  there  to  pass  a  few 
days  with  them.  I  readily  accepted  this  invitation,  and  hastened 
to  communicate  the  pleasing  intelligence  to  my  parents. 

It  proved,  however,  less  agreeable  to  my  father  than  to  me. 
The  love  of  independence,  a  sentiment  natural  to  the  citizen  of 
a  free  town  of  the  empire,  had  always  kept  him  at  a  distance 
from  the  great  ;  and  though  connected  with  the  agents  of  the 
neighbouring  nobility  and  princes,  he  had  never  maintained  any 
personal  communication  with  the  latter.  He  loved  to  rail  at  the 
expense  of  courts  ;  while  at  the  same  time,  he  was  pleased  to 
hear  the  arguments  that  were  brought  forward  against  him,  pro- 
vided they  were  maintained  with  ingenuity.  In  these  contests,  we 
generally  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  old  proverbs.  To  this  ProcuL 
à  Jove,  procul  }  fulmine,  my  young  friends  and  1  replied,  that  it 
mattered  not  whence  the  thunderbolt  came,  so  long  as  we  knew 
where  it  fell.  In  answer  to  the  adage,  that  no  good  ever  comes 
of  feasting  with  the  great  ;  we  observed,  that  at  all  events  it  was 
worse  to  eat  out  of  the  same  dish  with  a  glutton.  But  his  most 
powerful  argument  which  he  usually  kept  in  reserve,  was  Vol- 
taire's adventure  with  Frederick  the  Great.  This  anecdote  was 
a  finishing  stroke  for  us.  After  describing  the  high  favour  svhich 
the  poet  had  enjoyed  with  the  king,  and  his  familiarity  wilii  the 
monarch,  he  detailed  the  unforeseen  circumstance  which  put  a 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE, 


period  to  their  familiarity,  and  painted  in  forcible  colours  the 
situation  of  the  great  philosopher,  when  arrested  by  the  Frankfort 
militia,  on  the  requisition  of  the  resident  Freytag,  and  detained 
at  the  Rose  inn.  In  answer  to  all  this,  we  might  have  indeed 
observed,  that  Voltaire  was  not  entirely  faultless  on  that  occa- 
sion ;  but  from  feelings  of  respect  we  acknowledged  ourselves 
to  be  defeated. 

But  though  my  father  could  jest  on  this  subject,  he  was  never- 
theless (irmly  riveted  in  his  opinions.  He  took  it  into  his  head 
that  my  invitation  to  join  the  princes  had  no  other  object  than  to 
sacrifice  me  to  the  resentment  of  Wieland,  whom  1  had  offended, 
and  who  was  in  high  favour  at  Weimar.  In  spite  of  all  my 
respect  for  my  father,  1  could  only  regard  this  chimerical  appre- 
hension as  the  error  of  a  too  susceptible  imagination  :  but  fear- 
ing to  vex  him  by  the  fulfilment  of  my  engagement,  I  vainly 
sought  a  pretence  for  eluding  it,  without  incurring  the  reproach 
of  unpoliteness  or  ingratitude.  In  cases  of  difficulty  such  as  this, 
I  usually  had  recourse  to  Mademoiselle  Klettenberg  and  my  mo- 
ther. My  mother  was  no  less  clever  in  rendering  active  assist- 
ance, than  our  friend  was  in  giving  advice  ;  and  i  used  jokingly 
to  call  the  one  counsel  and  the  other  action.  When  Mademoiselle 
Von  Klettenberg  deigned  to  turn  her  eyes  from  heaven  to  the 
affairs  of  this  world,  she  easily  smoothed  away  difficulties  which 
perplexed  us  children  of  the  earth.  When  she  looked  down 
upon  the  labyrinth,  she  discovered  at  a  single  glance  the  means 
of  escaping  from  it  ;  and  the  course  being  once  pointed  out,  I 
might  always  rely  on  my  mother's  activity  and  readiness  to  follow 
it.  Viadame  Goëthe  was  supported  by  pious  confidence,  as  our 
friend  was  by  holy  meditation  ;  her  good  humour  never  forsook 
her,  and  she  rarely  failed  in  any  thing  she  undertook.  Madem- 
oiselle Von  Klettenberg  was  at  this  time  confined  to  bed  by 
illness  ;  my  mother  went  to  consult  her.  The  advice  she  receiv- 
ed was  so  judicious,  that  my  father,  though  he  still  retained  all 
his  distrust,  was  nevertheless  reluctantly  prevailed  on  to  consent 
to  my  journey. 

I  was  punctual  to  my  appointment,  and  I  arrived  at  Mentz  in 
very  cold  weather.  The  reception  given  me  by  the  young  princes 
and  the  persons  who  accompanied  them,  was  equal  to  my 
hopes.  The  important  objects  on  which  we  conversed  at  Frank- 
fort were  again  recollected  We  afterward  spoke  of  the  modern 
German  literature,  and  of  the  licenses  which  it  authorized. 
This  naturally  led  to  my  pamphlet,  entitled  The  Gods,  the  He- 
roes,  and  Wieland;  and  1  perceived  with  pleasure  that  the  affair 
was  noticed  with  good  humour.  I  then  related  the  origin  of  that 
piece  of  buffoonery.  1  felt  it  necessary  to  avow  that,  like  true 
natives  of  the  Upper  Rhine,  we  were  without  reserve  in  our 
attachments  and  antipathies.  Our  veneration  for  Shakspeare 
went  the  length  of  adoration.  How  then,  could  we  calmly 
behold  the  efforts  of  Wieland  to  depreciate  the  interest  of  that 


threat  poet's  works,  and  repress  our  enthusiasm  by  the  criticisms 
with  which  the  notes  of  his  translation  were  filled  !    We  were 
grievously  affected  by  the  severity  with  which  he  treated  our 
idol.    This  rigour  was  with  us  a  great  abatement  from  the  merit 
of  his  work.    We  admired  Wieland  as  a  poet  ;  we  acknowledged 
his  talents  as  a  translator;  but  his  criticism  appeared  to  us  fan- 
tastical, partial,  and  unjust.    His  observations  on  the  Greeks, 
whom  we  honoured  as  demi  gods,  had  aggravated  our  discontent. 
It  is  well  known  that  it  is  not  in  the  perfection  of  moral  qualities 
that  the  grandeur  of  the  gods  and  heroes  of  Greece  is  to  be 
sought.    It  is  by  the  lustre  of  physical  duty,  elevated  to  ideality 
that  they  impose  on  the  imagination.    Under  the  influence  of 
this  splendour,  they  have  always  been  regarded  by  artists  as  the 
models  and  types  of  the  beautiful.    Wieland,  however,  thought 
fit,  in  his  Jllceste,  to  cast  those  gods  and  heroes  in  a  modern 
mould.    This  he  was  entitled  to  do  ;  for.  doubtless,  every  one 
is  at  liberty  to  interpret  poetical  traditions  in  his  own  way,  and 
to  give  to  them  that  colour  which  he  thinks  most  proper.  But 
in  his  letters  on  this  opera,  inserted  in  the  German  Mercury,  he 
endeavoured  to  give  weight  to  his  system.    He  cast  from  their 
pedestals  those  antique  divinities,  those  magnificent  statues  of 
heroes,  which  are  the  objects  of  our  worship  ;  and  while  he 
measured  them  with  the  compass  of  vulgar  reason,  he  did  not 
perceive  that  he  was  annihilating  all  that  is  great  and  beautiful 
in  the  most  sublime  productions.    This  temerity  enraged  us  ; 
and  in  one  of  our  meetings,  animated  by  conversation  and  wine, 
1  felt  the  return  of  one  of  my  dramatic  fits,  and  hastily  wrote 
my  parody.    I  read  it  to  my  friends,  who  applauded  it.  Lenz, 
to  whom  I  sent  my  manuscript  to  Strasburgh,  appeared  quite 
transported  with  it.    He  wanted  to  have  it  immediately  printed. 
After  some  hesitation  I  consented,  and  my  trifle  was  sent  to  press. 
It  was  a  long  time  ere  I  understood  what  Lenz  had  in  view.  It 
was  his  first  scheme  for  bringing  me  into  disrespect  with  the  pub- 
lic.   Of  this  I  had  not  then  the  slightest  suspicion. 

I  wished  to  prove  to  my  new  patrons  by  this  candid  statement 
that  my  little  work  had  sprung  from  no  malignant  intention,  and 
that  any  reprehensible  personality  was  far  from  my  thoughts. 
The  better  to  convince  them,  I  described  the  freedom  and  gayety 
with  which  we  were  accustomed  to  rally  each  other  in  our  soci- 
ety. These  explanations  appeared  to  remove  every  shade  of 
dissatisfaction.  The  princes  and  their  friends  expressed  surprise 
at  our  fear  of  sleeping  under  our  own  laurels.  They  compared 
us  with  those  buccaniers,  who  were  afraid  of  becoming  effeminate 
by  idleness,  and  whose  captain,  when  he  had  no  enemy  to  com- 
bat nor  ship  to  pillage,  used  in  the  midst  of  a  feast  to  fire  his 
pistol  under  the  table,  that  his  men  might  not  be  too  long  unac- 
customed to  wounds  and  bloodshed.  We  talked  for  some  time 
on  the  subject  of  this  petty  quarrel,  and  i  was  finally  urged  to 
"^rite  an  amicable  letter  to  Wieland.    I  vielded  to  this  recom- 

Nn 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


mendation  the  more  readily,  as  Wieland  had  already  explained 
himself  on  this  act  of  youthful  folly  with  much  generosity  in  the 
Mercury,  confining  himself  to  a  spirited  reply,  as  was  his  custom 
in  all  his  literary  disputes. 

The  few  days  I  spent  at  Mentz  passed  away  very  agreeably. 
On  my  return,  1  was  eager  to  relate  to  my  family  all  the  details 
of  a  journey  with  which  1  was  delighted.  But  when  1  arrived,  I 
found  consternation  on  every  countenance.  We  had  lost  our 
excellent  friend  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg.  This  was  a 
sorrowful  event  to  me,  more  especially  as  1  had  at  that  moment 
great  need  for  her  friendship.  But  my  regret  was  mitigated  by 
learning  that  her  pious  life  had  been  crowned  by  a  peaceful  end, 
and  that  to  the  last  moment  she  retained  her  serenity  and  her 
confidence  in  Heaven.  Another  circumstance  checked  the 
emotions  of  my  heart,  which  was  ready  to  overflow.  My  father 
persisted  in  his  distrust,  and  still  augured  ill  as  to  the  conse- 
quences of  my  new  connexion.  I  therefore  communicated  to 
my  young  friends  every  thing  that  had  so  strongly  affected  me. 
They  were  never  tired  of  my  confidence,  but  their  attachment 
gave  birth  to  an  incident  which  occasioned  me  much  pain.  A 
short  dialogue,  entitled  Prometheus  and  his  Critiques,  appeared. 
It  was  accompanied  by  clever  caricatures,  and  Wieland,  the 
author  of  the  Mercury,  was  not  forgotten.  This  piece  of  plea- 
santry gave  me  much  uneasiness.  It  could  only.be  attributed  to 
one  of  my  friends  ;  or  perhaps  I  might  be  regarded  as  the  author. 
Prometheus  was  made  to  state  some  circumstances  relative  to 
my  residence  at  Mentz,  which  could  only  have  been  known 
through  me.  This  vexed  me  most  of  all.  After  the  flattering 
reception  I  had  received,  after  my  conduct  towards  Wieland, 
what  was  to  be  thought  ?  The  author  remained  anonymous.  It 
was,  however,  soon  learned  that  the  pamphlet  was  from  the  pen 
of  Wagner.  I  had  myself  detected  his  manner,  but  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  make  the  public  believe  he  had  not  been  assisted.  This 
was  not  the  only  occasion  on  which  I  had  suffered  from  the  levity 
and  precipitation  of  my  friends.  I  must  confess  that  I  had  also 
faults  enough  of  my  own. 

I  have  still  to  mention  some  celebrated  men  whom  I  met  at 
ibis  time  at  Frankfort.  The  name  of  Klopstock  is  entitled  to 
my  first  homage.  WTe  corresponded  together.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  Carlsruhe,  and  appointed  a  meeting  with  me  at  Friedberg. 
!  hastened  thither  at  the  fixed  time,  but  an  accident  retarded 
Klopstock's  arrival,  and  after  waiting  for  him  in  vain  several 
days,  1  returned  to  Frankfort.  He  was  there  almost  as  soon  as 
f  was.  He  visited  me  ;  apologized  for  his  involuntary  want  of 
punctuality,  and  appeared  to  be  much  pleased  with  my  eagerness 
to  meet  him.  He  was  low  in  stature,  but  well  proportioned. 
Though  serious  and  reserved,  his  manners  were  not  destitute  of 
ease.  He  spoke  laconically  and  gracefully.  The  whole  of  hip 
appearance  bad  a  diplomatic  character.    An  ambassador  imposcc 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


t 

43o 


upon  himself  the  difficult  task  of  supporting,  along  with  his  own 
dignity,  that  of  a  superior  to  whom  he  is  accountable.  He  has  to 
watch  over  his  own  interests,  but  he  must  guard  in  preference 
those  of  his  sovereign  and  his  country;  and  to  fulfil  this  twofold 
object,  his  first  care  must  be  to  render  himself  agreeable.  Such 
seemed  to  be  the  law  by  which  Klopstock's  conduct  was  regula- 
ted ;  he  wished  to  be  regarded  as  a  man  distinguished  at  once 
for  his  own  personal  merit,  and  for  his  devotedness  to  religion, 
morality,  and  liberty,  of  which  he  was  indeed  a  worthy  repre- 
sentative. A  trait  peculiar  to  men  of  the  world,  and  which  also 
characterized  this  great  poet,  was  his  disinclination  to  speak  on 
subjects  which  one  might  naturally  have  supposed  he  would  have 
found  pleasure  in  discussing.  He  rarely  conversed  on  poetry 
and  literature.  Finding  that  we  were  fond  of  the  exercise 
of  skating,  he  initiated  us  into  all  the  rules  of  the  art  ;  and 
moreover,  gave  us  some  lessons  in  horsemanship.  He  seemed 
purposely  to  avoid  all  that  bore  any  reference  to  his  habitual 
occupations,  and  to  select  subjects  of  conversation,  which  it 
might  have  been  presumed,  were  hostile  to  his  taste,  but  which 
he  treated  with  the  ease  of  an  amateur.  1  need  not  make  any 
further  observations  on  the  well-known  peculiarities  of  this  extra- 
ordinary man.  Such  singularities  are  not  uncommon  in  men  of 
superior  minds,  who  for  want  of  opportunities  for  the  exercise 
of  their  eminent  faculties  in  their  general  intercourse  with  soci- 
ety, often  seek  to  render  themselves  agreeable  by  means  that 
would  never  have  been  thought  of. 

Zimmermann  was  also  our  guest  for  some  time.  This  cele- 
brated individual  was  of  a  tall  and  robust  stature.  His  temper 
was  naturally  morose  and  reserved  ;  but  he  was  so  eminently 
gifted  with  the  art  of  self-possession,  that  he  enjoyed  in  the 
world  the  reputation  of  being  a  man  of  mild  and  polished  man- 
ners. It  was  only  in  his  writings,  and  in  the  society  of  his 
intimate  friends,  that  he  gave  vent  to  the  natural  severity  of  his 
disposition.  His  conversation  was  varied  and  instructive  ;  and 
making  due  allowance  for  his  very  thorough  conviction  of  his 
own  merit,  it  would  have  been  scarce  possible  to  single  out  a 
more  agreeable  companion.  But  that  which  was  usually  deno- 
minated vanity  in  Zimmermann,  was  by  no  means  offensive  to 
me  ;  for  I  was  vain  myself,  if  vanity  consist  in  unpretending 
self-satisfaction.  We,  therefore,  maintained  very  good  terms 
with  each  other,  by  means  of  mutual  concessions.  He  treated 
me  with  candour  and  indulgence,  and  the  hours  which  I  passed 
in  his  society  were  very  profitable  to  me. 

But  could  it  be  just  to  accuse  such  a  man  of  vanity  ?  In 
Germany  this  reproach  is  far  too  general  in  its  application. 
Vanity  supposes  a  nullity  ;  it  is  self-complacency  cherished 
without  a  warrantable  ground.  With  respect  to  Zimmermann, 
it  was  quite  the  reverse.  His  singular  merit  never  led  him  to 
he  satisfied  with  himself.    He  who  cannot  silently  enjoy  the 


284  .MEMOIRS  OP  atOlTtUE. 

consciousness  of  his  natural  powers,  who  does  not  rind  his  reward 
in  the  mere  exercise  of  his  faculties,  and  who  relies  on  the 
approval  of  others,  is  often  deceived  in  his  expectation.  Men 
are  sparing  of  praise,  and  lavish  of  censure. 

Those  who  will  not  accept  this  apology  for  Zimmermann,  will 
be  still  less  inclined  to  forgive  his  more  serious  fault  of  assailing, 
and  even  destroying,  the  happiness  of  others.  1  here  allude  to 
his  conduct  towards  his  children.  His  daughter,  who  travelled 
with  him,  remained  at  our  house  while  her  father  was  engaged 
in  visiting  some  families  in  the  neighbourhood.  This  young 
lady  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age.  Though  slender  and 
elegantly  formed,  yet  her  deportment  was  ungraceful.  A  regu- 
lar set  of  features  might  have  rendered  her  countenance  agree* 
able,  had  it  been  animated  by  an  expression  of  sensibility  ;  but 
she  was  as  cold  and  lifeless  as  a  statue,  seldom  venturing  to 
speak,  and  never  in  the  presence  of  her  father.  However,  after 
she  had  passed  a  few  days  at  our  house,  my  mother's  kind  dispo- 
sition and  engaging  manners  produced  a  deep  impression  on  her. 
She  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Madame  Goethe,  and,  with  a 
torrent  of  tears,  begged  to  be  allowed  to  remain  with  her.  In 
the  most  moving  language  she  implored  my  mother  to  keep  her 
as  her  servant  or  her  slave,  rather  than  allow  her  to  return  to  her 
father,  w  hose  tyranny  exceeded  all  conception.  Her  brother 
had  already  fallen  a  victim  to  this  harsh  treatment  ;  it  had  driven 
him  insane.  She  had  been  enabled  to  endure  her  dreadful 
situation  only  under  the  idea  that  the  same  system  was  pursued 
in  alj  families  ;  but  after  the  kindness  she  had  experienced  under 
our  roof,  she  found  it  impossible  to  return  to  her  father.  My 
mother  gave  me  a  feeling  account  of  the  poor  young  lady's  pa- 
thetic appeal  to  her.  This  excellent  woman  was  so  far  over- 
come by  compassion  as  to  declare  that,  if  I  would  determine  to 
marry  Mademoiselle  Zimmermann,  she  would  gladly  consent  to 
her  remaining  in  the  family.  If  she  were  an  orphan,  I  replied, 
I  might  perhaps  take  the  matter  into  consideration  ;  but  Heaven 
defend  me  from  becoming  the  son-in  law  of  her  father  !  My 
mother  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  fate  of  Mademoiselle  Zim- 
mermann :  she  succeeded  in  getting  her  placed  in  a  boarding- 
school  ;  but  the  unhappy  young  lady  did  not  long  survive. 

1  should  have  retrained  from  noticing  these  unfortunate  points 
in  the  character  of  a  man  of  such  high  merit  as  Zimmermann, 
had  they  not  already  been  the  subject  of  public  discussion.  The 
hypochondriac  humour,  which,  during  the  latter  period  of  his 
life,  urged  him  to  torment  others  as  well  as  himself,  was,  after 
his  decease,  unreservedly  alluded  to.  His  harshness  towards  his 
children  was,  indeed,  the  result  of  hypochondria  :  it  was  a  sort 
of  madness  ;  a  kind  of  moral  assassination,  to  which  he  himself 
fell  a  victim,  after  sacrificing  his  offspring.  Besides,  it  must  not 
be  forgotten  that  this  man,  who  appeared  to  possess  so  vigorous 
a  constitution,  was  an  invalid  during  the  best  part  of  his  life; 


AÎBM01R8  OP  GOKTHL. 


2'35 


anci  the  skilful  physician,  who  had  saved  so  many  lives,  was  him- 
self tormented  by  an  incurable  disorder.  Though  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  fame  and  fortune,  yet  his  life  was  one  unvarying  course 
of  misery.  Those  who  judge  his  character  from  the  writings 
which  he  has  left  behind  him,  will  surely  acknowledge  that  he 
was  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed. 

I  cannot  easily  explain  the  nature  of  the  influence  which  this 
remarkable  man  exercised  over  me,  without  recurring  to  some 
general  considerations  on  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  period  to 
which  I  am  here  alluding  might  have  been  justly  styled  the  age 
of  exaggerated  pretension:  for  almost  every  individual  imposed 
on  himself  and  others  a  task  which  exceeded  the  extent  of  hu- 
man power.  A  new  light  shone  upon  all  men  eminently  gifted 
with  the  faculties  of  thinking  and  feeling.  To  study  nature  for 
one's  self,  without  intermediary  assistance  and  to  adopt  this  study 
as  a  guide,  were  the  means  which  each  individual  conceived  to  be 
most  certain  and  easy  for  the  attainment  of  the  objects  he  had  in 
view.  Experience  became  the  universal  watchword,  and  every 
man  exercised  his  sagacity  to  the  best  advantage.  To  physicians, 
above  every  class  of  men,  this  method  was  best  suited,  and  most 
easy  of  attainment.  A  bright  luminary  shed  its  radiance  over 
them  from  the  bosom  of  antiquity.  The  works  which  have  been 
transmitted  to  us  under  the  name  of  Hippocrates,  present  ex- 
amples of  the  wise  observance  of  nature,  and  the  faithful  repro- 
duction of  her  forms.  But  it  seemed  to  be  forgotten  that  we 
do  not  view  nature  in  the  same  light  as  the  Greeks  did  ;  and  that 
their  poetry,  their  painting,  and  their  system  of  medicine,  can 
never  be  revived  in  modern  times  Even  admitting  that  we  might 
be  tutored  in  the  school  of  the  ancients,  and  take  them  for  our 
guides,  it  would  nevertheless  be  requisite  to  cultivate,  with  unre- 
mitting zeal,  the  boundless  field  of  observation  and  experience; 
and,  after  all,  we  should  not  reap  so  glorious  a  harvest  as  might 
be  anticipated.  How  often  is  the  eye  of  the  observer  guided  by 
prevailing  opinion  ?  It  would  have  been  necessary  to  examine 
diffèrent  opinions,  to  submit  them  to  the  test  of  reason,  before 
we  could  determine  how  to  fix  our  choice,  and  finally  to  explore 
unassisted,  the  boundless  empire  of  nature.  Here  was  an  enor- 
mous undertaking  !  And  yet  it  was  supposed  to  be  the  only 
means  of  attaining  a  knowledge  ot  nature  in  all  her  truth  and 
purity.  How  rarely  is  science  divested  of  superfluous  eru- 
dition and  pedantry,  or  practice  from  empiricism  and  charlatan- 
ism !  How  difficult  is  it  to  distinguish  between  use  and  abuse 
— to  separate  the  seed  from  the  husk  !  At  the  onset,  indeed,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  shortest  mode  had  been  discovered  of 
attaining  the  desired  object.  The  power  of  genius  was  invoked, 
that  magical  power,  which  smooths  down  difficulties,  terminates 
disputes,  and  satisfies  the  most  sanguine  wishes.  Then  came 
reason,  eager  to  dissipate  the  gloom  of  prejudice  by  enlightened 
ideas,  and  to  oppose  all  kinds  o%  superstition  with  the  arms  of 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHLc 


sound  logic.  Because  extraordinary  men,  like  Boerhaave  and 
Haller,  had  in  their  discoveries  exceeded  all  the  hopes  that  could 
have  been  formed  of  them,  new  miracles  were  expected  from 
their  disciples  and  successors.  The  path  had  been  opened,  it 
was  said  ;  as  if  it  were  not  a  rare  thing  for  human  understand- 
ing even  to  open  a  path.  It  is  like  a  ship  which  cleaves  the 
waves,  and  separates  the  biilows  on  either  side  ;  but  they  imme- 
diately unite  and  roll  behind  her.  Thus,  though  transcendent 
genius  may,  for  a  time,  disperse  error,  and  trace  a  path  through 
the  mazes  of  darkness,  yet  prejudice  soon  rallies  her  natural 
forces,  and  resumes  her  wonted  course. 

Zimmermann  could  never  be  brought  to  acknowledge  these 
truths.  He  could  never  bring  himself  to  believe  that  Absurdity 
rules  the  world.  Every  act  of  folly  or  injustice  was  to  him  the 
subject  of  anger,  carried  to  a  pitch  of  fury.  Whether  he  had  to 
contend  with  a  nurse  or  a  Paracelsus,  a  quack  or  a  chymist,  it 
signified  not  ;  he  always  struck  with  equal  force  and  decision  : 
and  when  he  had  worked  himself  out  of  breath,  he  was  astonished 
to  see  the  hydra,  which  he  thought  he  had  trampled  under  foot, 
rise  again  in  full  force  to  oppose  him. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  Zimmermann 
— and,  above  all,  his  sensible  work  on  Experience — may  easily 
guess  what  were  the  subjects  which  I  loved  to  discuss  with  him. 
He  was  twenty  years  older  than  myself  ;  and  this  circumstance 
heightened  the  influence  which  he  naturally  exercised  over  me. 
His  celebrity  as  a  physician  introduced  him  to  the  higher  classes 
of  society,  with  whose  manners  and  habits  he  was  well  acquaint- 
ed. The  evil  consequences  of  indolence  and  luxury  formed  his 
continual  theme  ;  and  his  medical  observations,  which  accorded 
with  the  sentiments  of  great  philosophers  and  poets,  tended  more 
and  more  to  direct  my  mind  to  the  observance  of  nature.  I 
could  not,  however,  entirely  participate  in  his  enthusiasm  for 
reform  ;  so  that  when  we  separated,  I  was  soon  restored  to  my 
natural  bent,  proportioning  my  efforts  to  my  means,  and  good- 
humouredly  attacking  all  that  displeased  me,  without  caring 
much  for  the  consequences  either  to  myself  or  others. 

About  the  same  period  we  received  a  visit  from  M.  Von  Salis, 
the  founder  of  an  excellent  establishment  for  education  at 
Marcklin.  He  was  a  serious,  sensible  man  ;  and  the  gayety 
and  wh  msicality  of  our  little  circle  must  have  produced  a  very 
odd  impression  on  his  mind.  Sulzer,  who  also  visited  us  at  the 
time  he  travelled  in  the  south  of  France,  probably  conceived  a 
similar  idea  of  us  ;  at  least  so  I  should  infer  from  a  passage  of 
his  Narrative  in  which  he  alludes  to  me. 

But,  besides  these  visits,  which  were  equally  agreeable  and 
useful,  we  also  received  others,  with  which  I  would  willingly 
have  dispensed.  My  friends  and  1  cherished  so  little  distrust, 
that  we  were  tormented  by  a  host  of  impudent  and  needy  adven- 
turers, who  Grounded  their  in%ortunities  on  conformity  of  taste 


JlEAIÔIIiS  OP  GOETHE 


28? 


or  on  misfortune  real  or  pretended.  They  pat  my  purse  under 
contribution  ;  and  thus  obliged  me  to  become  a  borrower  in  my 
turn — a  thing  to  which  I  was  particularly  averse.  As  to  my  fa- 
ther, he  was  very  much  in  the  situation  of  that  unskilful  magician, 
who  gets  his  house  washed  by  enchantment  ;  but,  forgetting  the 
mystic  words  by  which  the  supply  of  water  is  to  be  stopped,  he 
soon  runs  the  risk  of  being  completely  inundated.*  IVÎ.  Goethe 
had  laid  out  for  me  a  plan  of  life,  which  he  hoped  would  prove 
highly  satisfactory  to  us  both.  This  plan  was,  however,  deranged 
by  daily  recurring  accidents.  The  idea  of  my  journey  to  Ratis- 
bon  and  Vienna  was  now  given  up  ;  but  my  father  was  still 
anxious  that  I  should  visit  Italy,  to  acquire,  at  least,  some  gene- 
ral ideas  respecting  that  interesting  country.  Some  of  my 
friends,  however,  were  of  opinion  that  this  journey  would  occupy 
too  long  a  space  in  the  active  part  of  my  life  ;  and  they  wished 
that  I  should  take  advantage  of  the  favourable  opportunities  that 
offered  themselves  for  establishing  myself  in  my  native  country. 
On  the  death  of  my  grandfather,  my  uncle  had  succeeded  to  his 
place  in  the  senate,  and  consequently  1  was  excluded  from  that 
post.  But  there  were  other  public  employments  in  my  native 
city  to  which  I  could  aspire,  and  which  would  afford  me  a  com- 
petent income.  1  might  become  an  agent  to  a  person  of  rank, 
or  obtain  the  honourable  post  of  resident.  I  was  easily  per- 
suaded to  turn  my  thoughts  to  these  matters.  I  entertained  no 
doubt  of  my  fitness  to  fill  any  of  the  posts  I  have  just  mentioned, 
though  no  previous  experience  had  assured  me  that  I  was  suited 
to  a  condition  of  life,  for  which  both  activity  and  versatility 
were  required.  To  these  prospects  I  was  the  more  powerfully 
urged  to  look  forward  by  an  attachment  which  dictated  to  me 
the  necessity  of  seeking  to  establish  myself. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  yet  mentioned  a  society  of 
young  persons,  male  and  female,  of  which  I  formed  a  member. 
My  sister,  though  not  the  foundress  of  this  society,  was  at  least 
its  centre  and  support.  The  habit  of  assembling  together,  and 
the  pleasure  which  our  meetings  afforded  us,  had  induced  us  to 
continue  them  even  after  Cornelia's  marriage.  All  the  mem- 
bers of  our  little  circle,  myself  included,  met  together  once  a 
week,  under  the  presidency  of  a  young  man  of  lively  and  agree- 
able manners.  Our  legislator  conceived  the  idea  of  rendering 
Fate  the  arbiter  of  love  ;  and  our  constant  amusement  consisted 
in  the  unpremeditated  and  fictitious  attachments  which  we  were 
called  upon  to  represent.  Every  week  the  decrees  of  Fate  di- 
vided us  into  couples  of  lovers  ;  and  those  who  were  thus  paired 
together  were  to  appear,  in  the  eyes  of  the  rest  of  the  company, 
as  if  inspired  by  a  mutual  attachment.  Afterward  it  was  or- 
dained that  our  party  should  every  week  be  divided  into  couples, 
supposed  to  be  united  by  the  bonds  of  marriage.    The  couple* 


*  Goethe  here  alludes  to  a  tale  which  he  has  versified,— Edit. 


ilEMOIUa  OP  OOBTHL» 


joined  by  these  supposed  unions,  were  required  to  conduct 
themselves  towards  each  other  as  married  people  really  behave 
in  society.  The  general  rules  enjoined  that  they  were  to  act  as 
though  they  were  not  united  by  any  bond  of  connexion.  They 
were  not  to  sit  next  each  other,  and  were  to  converse  but  little 
together.  Ever)  thing  approaching  to  a  caress  was  strictly  prohi- 
bited. However,  all  cause  of  jealousy  or  vexation,  either  on  the 
part  of  the  husband  or  the  wife,  was  to  be  carefully  avoided  :  and 
the  husband  could  only  win  the  general  approbation  by  obser- 
ving that  line  of  conduct  which  was  best  calculated  to  secure 
the  affections  of  his  wife. 

Our  conjugal  unions  were  drawn  by  lot  ;  and  the  ill  assorted 
matches  which  occasionally  ensued,  furnished  us  with  subjects 
of  merriment.  Our  matrimonial  congédies  were  performed 
with  great  spirit,  and  every  week  a  new  one  was  represented. 

At  the  very  commencement  of  our  meetings,  by  a  singular 
chance,  the  same  partner  fell  to  rny  lot  twice  in  succession. — 
She  was  a  charming  young  lady,  and  one  whom  I  could  have 
had  no  objection  to  marry  in  good  earnest.  Her  form  was  well 
proportioned  and  elegant,  her  countenance  agreeable,  and  the 
calm  composure  of  her  manners  at  once  denoted  health  and  se- 
renity of  mind.  Si.e  manifested  on  all  occasions  the  most  per- 
fect equanimity  of  temper.  Though  she  spoke  but  little,  yet 
her  observations  always  indicated  natural  good  sense  and  a  cul- 
tivated mind.  To  testify  esteem  and  affection  for  this  interest- 
ing young  female,  was  not  a  difficult  task  ;  and  in  the  fulfilment 
of  any  new  duties  towards  her,  I  had  only  to  listen  to  the  dictates 
of  my  inclination.  Fate  having  joined  us  together  for  the  third 
time,  our  president  solemnly  declared,  that  Heaven  had  united 
us,  and  that  we  mu-t  ne  er  be  separated.  I  was  delighted  to 
hear  this  decree,  and  my  partner  seemed  not  to  be  displeased 
with  it.  We  evinced  such  a  sincere  regard  tor  each  other,  that 
our  companions  pronounced  us  to  be  excellent  models  of  conju- 
gal happiness.  One  of  our  regulations  was,  that,  during  our 
meetings,  the  individuals  who  were  coupled  together  should,  in 
addressing  each  other,  use  the  pronouns  thou  and  thee.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks  this  familiar  mode  of  address  came  so 
natural  to  us,  that  we  could  not  refrain  from  employing  it  when 
we  happened  accidentally  to  see  each  other  in  the  intervals  be- 
tween our  regular  meetings.  How  singular  is  the  force  of  habit  Î 
Nothing  appeared  more  natural  to  us  than  our  pretended  union. 
I  became  daily  more  and  more  attached  to  my  partner  :  she,  in 
her  turn,  daily  manifested  more  and  more  confidence  in  me  :  and 
i  really  believe  that  had  chance  thrown  a  priest  in  our  way,  we 
should  not  have  hesitated  to  seal  the  nuptial  bond. 

One  of  our  favourite  amusements  at  our  weekly  meetings, 
was  the  reading  of  some  new  literary  production.  Beaumar- 
cbais'  Mémoire  against  Clavijo  had  at  that  time  just  made  its 
appearance.    Ï  read  it  in  French  one  evening  to  my  friends.  K 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


289 


excited  a  lively  interest  and  called  forth  many  observations. 
After  every  one  had  made  some  remarks  upon  it,  my  fair  part- 
ner, addressing  herself  to  me,  said  that  if  I  were  her  lover,  and 
not  her  husband,  she  would  request  me  to  dramatise  the  Memoir  ; 
a  purpose  for  which  she  conceived  it  was  admirably  adapted. 
"  To  prove  to  you,  my  dear,"  replied  1,  "  that  (  regard  you  at 
once  as  my  mistress  and  my  wife,  I  pledge  myself  that  in  eight 
days  hence  you  shall  hear  me  read  this  Vjemoir  in  a  dramatic 
form."  This  rash  engagement  excited  a  little  surprise  ;  but  I 
doubted  not  my  ability  to  fulfil  it  ;  for  I  had  at  command  the 
degree  of  invention  requisite  for  such  a  task.  When  I  escorted 
my  partner  home  that  evening,  I  was  particularly  thoughtful  and 
silent.  She  asked  what  ailed  me.  "  I  have  been  thinking  of 
my  piece,"  replied  I  ;  "  and  1  have  nearly  arranged  my  plan. 
I  wish  to  prove  how  much  pleasure  I  enjoy  in  doing  any  thing 
for  your  sake."  She  pressed  my  hand  ;  and  when,  in  return,  1 
tenderly  embraced  her,  "  Oh  !"  said  she  ;  "you  forget  your  part  : 
married  people  should  not  show  so  much  affection  for  each 
other." — "  Let  us  follow  the  impulse  of  our  feelings,"  replied 
I  :  "it  matters  not  what  others  do." 

Before  my  return  home,  the  plan  of  my  piece  was  entirely 
arranged  :  but  lest  I  should  arrogate  too  much  merit  to  myself,  I 
must  confess  that,  on  the  very  first  perusal  of  the  Memoir,  the 
subject  had  presented  itself  to  me  in  a  dramatic  point  of  view. 
However,  had  it  not  been  for  the  circumstance  which  urged  me 
to  execute  the  task  I  had  undertaken,  the  piece,  like  many  others 
which  I  have  at  various  times  conceived  the  idea  of  producing, 
might  have  been  laid  aside  for  a  future  occasion.  The  manner 
in  which  this  drama  is  executed,  is  well  known.  Tired  of  those 
dramatic  reprobates  who  are  instigated  to  ruin  a  hero  by  ven- 
geance, hatred,  or  some  base  feeling,  I  determined  to  portray, 
in  the  character  of  Carlos,  the  conflict  of  the  feelings  of  society, 
excited  by  sincere  affection,  against  the  inclinations  of  the  heart, 
the  passions,  and  external  obstacles.  Following  the  example  of 
our  old  master  Shakspeare,  I  made  no  scruple  of  literally  trans- 
lating my  principal  scene  from  Beaumarchais's  Memoir  ;  and  I 
derived  the  whole  of  my  dramatic  action  from  the  same  source. 
The  catastrophe  I  borrowed  from  an  English  ballad.  My  piece 
was  finished  by  the  appointed  time  ;  and  it  was  received  with 
high  approbation  by  my  young  friends.  My  partner  was  de- 
lighted with  it.  To  her,  indeed,  it  owed  its  origin.  The  piece, 
in  whose  production  we  both  had  a  share,  confirmed  the  senti- 
ment that  had  taken  birth  in  our  hearts. 

The  perusal  of  my  drama  suggested  to  Mephistopheles  Merk 
some  observations  which  were  not  very  gratifying  to  me. 
"  Never  lei  me  see  you  write  such  trash  again,"  said  he  :  "  any 
body  might  produce  such  a  piece  as  this."  1  thought  he  was  in 
the  wrong  :  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  writer  should  always 
seek  after  what  is  novel  and  extraordinarv.    Good  works  may 

O  o 


290 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


be  produced  without  departing  from  the  circle  of  common  ideas. 
If  I  had  met  with  encouragement  I  could  have  written  a  dozen 
such  pieces  as  Clavijo  ;  and  i  doubt  not  but  our  theatrical  mana- 
gers would  have  been  very  well  satisfied  with  them. 

My  feigned  marriage  soon  became,  if  not  exactly  the  town- 
talk,  at  least  the  subject  of  conversation  among  the  members  of 
my  own  family  and  my  friends.  The  idea  was  not  unpleasing 
to  my  supposed  mother  in-law  ;  and  was  by  no  means  disap- 
proved of  by  my  own  mother.  The  latter  had  already  shown 
herself  to  be  prepossessed  in  favour  of  the  young  lady.  She  even 
went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  she  should  be  happy  to  have  her 
for  a  daughter-in-law.  My  mother  was  vexed  to  see  me  lose 
my  time  in  an  endless  course  of  tumult  and  dissipation.  In 
keeping  open  house  for  all  my  literary  friends,  she  received  no 
reward  for  the  trouble  and  expense  thereby  incurred,  except  the 
honour  which  the  presence  01  so  many  guests  conferred  on  her 
son.  Besides,  she  plainly  perceived  that  all  these  young  men. 
who  were  destitute  of  any  settled  means  of  subsistence,  and  who 
assembled  together  no  less,  for  the  ï>ake  of  entertainment  than  for 
mutual  instruction,  must  eventually  trust  to  each  other  for  sup- 
port. She  knew  how  ready  I  was  to  tender  my  services  in  all 
such  cases  .  and  therefore  >he  doubted  not  but  the  heaviest  share 
of  the  burthen  would  devolve  on  me. 

*  My  father  once  more  prop<  sed  that  !  should  undertake  my 
journey  to  Italy,  which  had  been  so  long  in  agitation  ;  and  this 
my  mother  considered  to  be  the  surest  mode  of  breaking  off  the 
many  useless  connexions  I  had  formed.  But  to  guard  against  the 
dangers  to  which  I  might  be  exposed  in  my  travels,  she  deemed 
it  advisable  to  cement  the  bonds  of  that  union  of  whici.  our 
matrimonial  meetings  had  given  so  favourable  an  augury.  This, 
she  concluded,  was  well  calculated  to  inspire  me  with  a  wish 
to  return  and  settle  in  my  native  country.  1  cannot  positively 
say  whether  this  plan  was  merely  a  supposition  of  mine,  or  whe- 
ther such  were  really  my  mother's  views,  previously  concerted 
with  our  late  respected  friei.d  Mademoiselle  Von  Klettenberg. 
The  conduct  of  Madame  Goethe,  however,  justified  me  in  at- 
tributing the  whole  to  her.  Cornelia's  marriage  had  left  a  void 
in  our  family  circle.  1  felt  the  want  of  a  friend  like  my  sister. 
My  mother  had  lost  a  helpmate,  and  my  iather  a  companion. 
All  this  was  often  mentioned  with  regret.  But  the  matter  did 
not  end  here.  My  father  and  mother,  when  out  walking  one 
evening,  met,  seemingly  by  chance,  the  young  lady  wlio  had  so 
often  acted  the  part  of  my  wife.  They  conducted  her  home 
with  them;  and  a  long  conversation  ensued  between  them.  At 
supper  the  circumstance  was  jokingly  alluded  to.  it  was  ob- 
served that  the  young  lady  had  pleased  my  father  exceedingly. 
He  declared  that  she  possessed  every  qualification  whieh  he 
conceived  to  be  requisite  in  a  vvife;  and  he  considered  himself 
a  verv  good  judge  in  these  matters. 


MEMOIRS-  OP  GOETHE . 


291 


1  soon  observed  that  great  preparations  were  making  in  the 
jrst  floor  of  our  house,  as  if  company  had  been  expected.  The 
furniture  was  carefully  brushed  up  :  and  I  one  day  found  my 
mother  engaged  in  examining  an  old  fashioned  cradle  of  walnut- 
tree  wood,  ornamented  with  ivory  a  d  ebony,  in  which,  in  my 
infancy,  i  had  been  lulled  to  rest.  F.nally,  even  day  betrayed 
some  new  -ign  of  an  approaching  change  in  the  family.  Ï  ob- 
served all  without  saying  any  thing;  and  the  idea  of  a  lasting 
union,  cemented  in  the  bosom  of  our  family  diffused  over  us  all 
a  degree  of  happiness  which  we  had  not  enjoyed  for  a  consider- 
able time  before. 


POSTSCRIPT 


The  account  which  Goëthe  has  given  of  his  life,  and  which 
has  hitherto  been  followed,  closes  with  a  mortifying  abruptness. 
Has  the  author's  taste  for  dramatic  effect, induced  him  to  take  this 
method  of  sharpening  the  curiosity  of  his  readers,  and  exciting 
a  new  interest  by  holding  the  gratification  of  that  curiosity  in 
suspense  ?  Or  is  there  something  at  this  point  of  his  history, 
which  he  finds  it  difficult  to  explain  ?  It  is  certain  that  of  what 
has  already  been  told,  notwithstanding  his  interesting  manner  of 
telling  it,  there  are  parts,  the  retrospect  of  which  ou^ht  to  have 
produced  some  compunctions  in  the  mind  of  the  narrator. 
Whether  at  this  remarkable  crisis  of  his  life  when  he  was  on  the 
point  of  marrying  a  lady  whom  he  says  he  loved,  and  whose 
merits  had  secured  the  approbation  of  his  parents,  there  inter- 
vened to  prevent  a  union,  which  seemed  abou'  to  be  formed  un- 
der the  most  favourable  auspices,  any  thing  which  he  may  rea- 
sonably hesitate  to  disclose  ;  or  whether  his  thus  cutting  off  the 
thread  of  his  narrative,  in  the  midst  of  nuptial  preparations,  be 
the  mere  artifice  of  authorship,  cannot  be  here  decided  Seve- 
ral German  works  containing  biographical  accounts  of  Goethe 
have  been  consulted,  in  the  hope  that  some  of  them  would  clear 
up  the  mystery  in  which  this  matrimonial  negotiation  is  involved; 
but  they  have  invariably  been  found  altogether  silent  on  the 
subject. 

From  Joerden's  Lexicon  of  German  Authors,  it  appears  that 
our  author  spent  in  Frankfort  the  year  1775  as  well  as  1774,  to- 
wards the  end  of  which  he  has  chosen  to  take  leave  of  his  readers. 
Except  the  accounts  of  his  travels,  there  are  no  farther  bio- 
graphical materials  from  his  own  pen  ;  and  the  supply  from 
other  sources  is  very  scanty,  and  may  consequently  be  stated 
within  a  small  compass.  But  before  the  few  facts  which  have 
been  collected  are  detailed,  the  following  description  of  the  per- 
sonal and  mental  qualities  given  of  a  man  who  holds  so  distin- 
guished a  rank  in  the  literary  world,  by  one  of  his  contempora- 
ries in  early  life,  will  perhaps  be  acceptable.  It  occurs  in  a 
letter  written  by  Heinse  to  Gleim  while  Goëthe  was  at  Dussel- 
dorff,  which  place  he  frequently  visited  during  the  years  1774 
and  1775  :  —  u  We  have  Goëthe  here  at  present.  He  is  a  hand- 
some young  mari  of  twenty-five  ;  all  genius  from  top  to  toe, 
power,  and  vigour  ; — with  a  heart  full  of  feeling,  a  spirit  of  fire 
eagle-winged,  qui  rwt  immensus  ore  profimdo."   What  is  here 


MEMOIÏIS  OF  GOETHE- 


-did  of  the  mind  of  Goethe  appears  still  to  be  the  general  opinion 
of  his  countrymen.  The  author  of  the  Lexicon  above  referred 
to,  observes,  that  the  account  given  by  Heinse  of  his  external 
appearance  is  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  all  who  knew  him 
in  his  youth.  "  Indeed,"  adds  Joerden,  44  if  we  judge  of  him  by 
what  he  now  is,  he  must  bave  been  a  remarkably  fine-looking 
man.  Old  age  has  not  impaired  the  dignity  and  grace  of  his 
deportment  ;  and  his  truly  Grecian  head,  large  penetrating  eyes, 
and  elevated  forehead,  continué  to  rivet  the  attention  of  all  who 
look  on  him." 

Charles  Augustus,  Duke  of  Saxe  Weimar,  while  hereditary 
prince,  visited  Frankfort;  where  Goëthe,  as  has  already  been 
stated,  was  introduced  to  him.  The  result  of  the  impression 
made  by  this  meeting  on  the  young  prince,  was  the  invitation  ol' 
Goëthe  to  Weimar;  whither  he  went  in  the  year  1 776,  and 
where  he  has  since,  with  the  exception  of  the  time  occupied  by 
his  journeys  in  France,  Switzerland,  and  Italy,  continued  almost 
constantly  to  reside.  Immediately  on  his  armai  he  was  ap- 
pointed a  member  of  the  Legislative-Council,  with  a  seat  and 
vote  in  the  Privy  Council.  In  1 779,  he  became  actually  a 
member  of  the  Privy  Council,  and  in  company  with  his  patron 
undertook  a  second  journey  to  Switzerland,  where  he  had  pre- 
viously travelled  in  the  year  i  773  with  the  Counts  Christian  and 
Frederick  Leopold  Von  Stolberg.  On  his  return  from  his  last 
Swiss  tour,  Goëthe  devoted  much  of  his  attention  to  the  business 
of  the  dutchy  of  Weimar.  In  1782.  letters  patent  of  nobility- 
were  granted  to  him,  and  he  was  made  President  of  the  Council 
of  State.  Between  the  year  1774  and  this  period,  however, 
several  of  the  author's  works  were  published  ;  for  the  Duke  was 
very  far  from  wishing,  by  the  appointments  which  have  been 
enumerated,  to  divert  the  exercise  of  talents  he  so  highly  es- 
teemed, from  literary  to  political  labour. 

In  1706  Goethe  undertook  a  journey  to  Italy  ;  in  visiting  va- 

I  rious  parts  of  which,  the  island  of  Sicily  included,  he  spent 
nearly  three  years.  His  stay  at  Rome  occupied  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  time  ;  and  with  a  mind  stored  with  classical  remi- 
niscences and  associations,  he  returned  to  Weimar  in  1 789.  In 
1792,  the  Duke  of  Weimar  having  joined  the  Prussian  army 
which  entered  Champagne,  Goëthe  accompanied  him,  and  was  a 

:  spectator  of  the  events  of  that  extraordinary  campaign,  in  which 
the  Prussian  veterans,  led  by  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  were 
compelled  to  fly  before  the  raw  levies  of  Republican  France. 
It  is  said  that  since  that  period,  our  author  has  constantly  lived 

.  at  Weimar.  In  1808,  he  received  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour  from  the  Emperor  Napoleon  ;  and  in  the  same  year  the 
Emperor  of  Russia  conferred  on  him  the  order  of  St.  Alexander 
Newsky. 

Weimar  has  been  called  the  German  Athens  ;  a  distinction 
which  it  in  some  measure  merits,  on  account  of  the  number 


294 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


of  learned  men  there  gathered  together  by  the  government, 
the  liberality  and  enlightened  views  of  which  are  worthy  the 
imitation  of  the  rulers  of  larger  states  This  little  (own  is  -sur- 
rounded by  elegant  houses  and  delightful  gardens  Etter&burgba 
the  Belvedere,  Wiihelmsthal  and  llmenau,  are  tt>  the  German* 
what  the  Portico,  the  Academic  Groves,  and  the  banks  of  the 
Cephisus  and  the  flysus,  were  to  the  Greeks  Before  the  arri- 
val of  Goethe,  Wieland,  I. ode,  Musaeus,  and  Bertuch  had  shed 
a  lustre  over  this  retreat  of  the  German  Muse.  Herder  and 
Schiller  more  recently  joined  the  author  of  Werther.  Weimar 
became  the  capital  of  a  literary  republic,  which  KnebehEmsn  del. 
Seg<  smund  Von  Seckondorff,  Bcettiger,  Bahrdt,  the  brothers 
Schlegel,  Madame  Woll/ogen,  and  Amelia  Imhoff,  contribu- 
ted, with  the  great  characters  already  mentioned,  to  render 
illustrious.  All  whose  names  were  distinguished  in  art  or 
literature,  obtained  a  flattering  reception  at  Weimar,  a  d  were 
detained,  at  least  for  a  time,  as  welcome  guests  in  that  temple  of 
the  muses.  Goethe  was  ever  the  soul  of  these  assemblages  ;  but 
less  occupied  with  his  own  personal  fame  and  superiority,  than 
with  the  ardent  desire  of  establishing  the  glory  of  his  country^ 
he  devoted  his  whole  life  to  promote  the  advancement  of  Ger- 
man literature,  and  the  interests  of  those  who  seconded  his 
efforts.  He  was  constantly  the  warm  friend  of  Herder  and 
Schiller  ;  whom,  had  his  heart  been  less  generous,  he  might 
have  regarded  as  his  rivals.  His  memoirs  have  shown  how 
much  Merrier  tried  his  patience;  and  to  Schiller,  whose  melan- 
choly and  often  peevish  disposition  may  be  attributed  to  impaired 
health  and  excessive  occupation,  he  constantly  manifested  the 
indulgence  and  attention  of  an  affectionate  brother.  His  merit 
in  these  particulars  is  universally  acknowledged  by  his  country- 
men ;  and  it  is  a  merit  which  is  not  always  due  to  superior  ge- 
nius. One  individual  alone  attempted  to  interrupt  the  harmony 
that  prevailed  at  Weimar.  He  wished  to  gain  admittance  to 
this  sanctuary  of  literature  ;  but  his  character  excited  distrust, 
and  his  proposals  were  declined.  His  wounded  vanity  avenged 
itself  by  a  libel,  which  occasioned  an  individual,  whose  name 
he  had  assumed,  to  forfeit  his  situation.  This  agent  of  discord 
was  the  unfortunate  Kotzebue. 

It  must  indeed  be  admitted  thatGoëthe  seems  to  have  always 
regarded  his  varied  powers  of  mind,  and  his  rank  in  society, 
merely  as  means  by  which  he  might  be  enabled  to  accelerate  the 
advancement  of  science,  literature,  and  art  in  Germany.  He 
has  been  constantly  engaged  in  stimulating  and  encouraging 
talent  of  every  kind,  and  in  publishing  works  which  have  exer- 
cised a  powerful  influence  over  the  public  mind  of  his  country. 
He  has  left  no  path  of  literature  untrodden.  The  dramatic  art 
in  all  its  branches,  epic  poetry,  detached  poems  of  every  des- 
cription, novels,  travels,  the  analysis  and  theory  of  thepoiite  arts 
and  literature,  criticism,  epistolary  correspondence,  translation. 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE. 


295 


memoirs,  and  works  on  Science  in  short,  Goethe's  genius  has 
embraced  every  thing,  He  appears  to  have  neglected  no  task 
by  which  he  conceived  he  migh:  open  a  road  to  improvement, 
or  hold  out  new  lights  to  guide  the  steps  of  adepts  in  the  pursuit 
of  human  knowledge  ;  and  there  is  no  work,  however  trivial,  of 
this  Colossus  of  German  literature,  in  which  the  extravagant 
admiration  of  his  country  men  does  not  recognise  the  impress  of 
originality  and  genius. 

On  an  examination  of  Goëthe's  principal  dramatic  works,  it 
will  be  found  that  Go  iz  Von  Berlichingen  and  Egmont  are  written 
on  the  model  of  the  Shaksperian  historical  tragedy  ;  that  Clavijo 
resembles  the  domestic  tragedies  of  Lillo  and  Lessing,  with  the 
observance  of  the  French  dramatic  ruies  :  that  in  Iphigenia  in 
TauriSy  German  sentiments  and  ideas  are  invested  with  Greek 
forms  :  and  that  Torquato  Tasso  exhibits  the  conflict  of  poetic 
genius  *vith  the  spirit  of  courts.  In  the  twro  last-mentioned 
dramas,  simplicity  of  action  is  carried  to  such  excess,  that  it 
almost  sinks  to  insipidity.  It  would  appear  that  the  author, 
weary  of  scenic  bustle  and  complicated  incident,  tried  the  possi- 
bility of  exciting  interest  by  dramatic  pictures,  almost  devoid  of 
action,  and  representing  only  a  few  characters.  As  to  Faust,  it 
has  neither  parallel  nor  model.  There  is  no  point  of  compa- 
rison for  such  a  work.  \t  is  an  allegorical  romance,  a  tale  of 
witchcraft  in  scenes  and  dialogues  ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  its  extra- 
vagance, it  is  nevertheless  a  stupendous  piece  of  machinery,  put 
together  and  finished  with  exquisite  skill.  In  this  production 
Goethe  has  displayed  all  the  versatility  and  flexibility  of  his  ta- 
lent ;  .<nd  if  the  reader  can  enter  into  the  monstrous  visions  of 
mysticism  and  superstition  which  the  author  unfolds,  he  will  find 
him  a  poet  of  the  highest  order.  The  character  of  Margaret  is 
at  once  pathetic  and  agonizing  : — whether  it  be  conceived  and 
delineated  in  conformity  with  the  rules  of  propriety  and  consist- 
ency, is  a  point  on  which  Goethe  never  seems  to  have  bestowed 
a  thought.  This  work  of  phantasmagoric  terror  is  intended  to 
convey  a  moral  lesson.  Satiety  of  pleasure,  even  of  intellectual 
enjoyment,  leads  to  error  and  crime.  He  who  is  content  with 
nothing,  in  the  end  surrenders  up  his  soul  to  perdition.  Such  is 
the  conclusion  of  this  dramatic  apologue. 

In  his  minor  dramas,  Goethe  displays  the  art  of  conferring  a 
lively  interest  on  the  most  trivial  subjects.  The  seal  of  superior 
genius  and  talent  is  always  perceptible.  In  his  comedy  oi  the 
Accomplices,  the  characters,  one  and  all,  are  criminal  in  a  more 
or  less  revolting  degree  .  but  if  the  disgust  which  they  are  natu- 
rally'calculated  to  inspire  be  once  surmounted,  it  will  be  found 
that  they  are  drawn  with  truth  to  nature,  and  that  the  piece 
possesses  considerable  comic  humour  in  its  situations.  Interest, 
gayety,  and  natural  delineation  of  local  manners  enliven  the 
pretty  pastoral  drama  of  Jery  and  Bœtely,  and  the  One  act  pieee-of 
*he  Brother  and  Sister.    JL  Lover's  Caprices,  Erwin  and  Elmira, 


296 


MEMOIRS  OP  GOETHE. 


Lida,  Claudine  Von  Villa  Bella,  and  Goëthe's  other  comic 
pieces,  all  bear  the  stamp  of  originality. 

Goethe's  talent  for  the  satirical  and  comic  epopee  is  admira- 
bly displayed  in  his  version  of  Reinecke  Fuchs,  (Reynard  the 
Fox.)  As  this  curious  production  is  not  generally  known,  a 
short  account  of  it  here  will  perhaps  be  acceptable.  It  was  first 
printed  in  the  dialect  of  Lower  Saxony,  in  the  year  i  19.;.  and 
was  immediately  translated  into  High  German  and  Latin  It  is 
generally  attributed  to  Henry  Von  Alkroar;*  but  that  a  story  of 
the  same  kind  had  previously  existed  is  evident  from  his  preface, 
in  which  he  expressly  states  the  work  to  be  a  translation.!  Be- 
sides, a  Dutch  romance  under  a  similar  title  (Historié  vanRey- 
nart  de  Vos)  was  printed  at  Delft  in  s  485.  Whether  Henry  Von 
Alkmar  —or  whoever  the  German  author  was — had  the  Dutch 
work  before  him,  or  whether  both  the  German  and  Dutch  authors 
drew  their  materials  from  the  same  unknown  source,  are  ques- 
tions now  involved  in  doubt.  But  whatever  may  be  the  fact, 
the  poetic  handling,  the  happy  versification,  the  numerous  traits 
of  comic  humour,  and  the  interesting  finish  bestowed  on  many  of 
the  pictures,  which  in  the  Dutch  are  merely  dry  outlines,  all 
entitle  the  German  work  to  the  rank  of  an  original  production. 
The  poem  presents  the  picture  of  a  court  in  which  a  sovereign, 
guided  by  the  mischievous  counsel  of  a  sordid  favourite,  is  in- 
duced to  act  against  his  better  inclination,  and  thus  lo  cause  the 
ruin  of  hi*  dominions  The  fox,  who  plays  the  principal  cha- 
racter, is  Reinhard  or  Reinecke,  Duke  of  Lorraine  ;  and  the 
other  am  mais  all  represent  characters  obviously  drawn  from  real 
life.  There  is  an  old  English  prose  translation,  by  Caxton,  of 
this  curious  work,  in  which  the  translator  says,  u  I  have  not  add- 
ed, ne  mynished,  but  have  followed,  as  nyghe  as  I  can,  my  copye, 
which  was  in  Dutche,"  that  is  to  say,  not  the  German,  but  the 
Flemish,  from  which  this  translation  is  executed.  Goëthe's 
Reinecke  Fuchs  is  rather  an  imitation  than  a  literal  translation 
of  Alkmars  work  from  the  Lower  Saxon  dialect.  It  is  written 
in  flowing  hexameters,  and  in  the  language  of  modern  times. 
The  materials,  however,  remain  unchanged,  and  the  whole  is 
imbued  with  that  air  of  antiquity  which  so  well  accords  with 
the  story.  Goëthe  has  merely  diffused  a  different  colouring 
over  his  subject,  where  modern  taste  rendered  changes  necessary. 

The  unqualified  admiration  of  Germany  has  been  bestowed 
on  Goethe's  compositions  in  the  lighter  styles  of  poetry,  such  as 
the  epistle,  the  satire,  the  elegy,  the  idyl,  and  the  romance.  These 
Minor  Poems  certainly  require  great  talent,  and  often  inspire  no 

*  It  has  been  supposed  that  the  author  was  Nicolas  Baumann,  Counsellor  to 
the  Duke  of  Juliers. 

t  The  account  given  in  the  quaint  preface  is  to  the  following  effect  : 
«  I,  Henry  Von  Alkmer,  schoolmaster  and  governor  to  the  noble  and  virtuous 
Prince  and  Lord  Duke  of  Lorraine,  have  extracted  this  present  book  out  of  the 
Italian  and  French  tongues,  and  turned  the  same  into  the  German,  for  the  love 
and  to  the  glory  of  God.  and  the  health  of  all  who  herein  shall  read." 


MEMOIRS  OF  GOETHE- 


297 


less  interest  than  productions  of  higher  pretensions  ;  and  as 
Goëthe  has  been  eminently  successful  in  their  execution,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  his  countrymen  have  assigned  to  him  the  very 
highest  rank  as  a  writer  of  epistles  and  satires,.and  as  an  elegiac 
and  pastoral  poet. 

Beauty  of  language  is  a  charm  which  peculiarly  characterizes 
the  writings  of  Goëthe.  He  is  always  elegant  and  correct, 
natural,  fanciful,  and  energetic.  His  style  is  happily  adapted  to 
every  subject,  simple  as  well  as  sublime.  In  this  particular 
alone  Goëthe  is,  in  the  estimation  of  his  countrymen,  the  first  of 
German  writers!  His  Iphigenia  in  Taaris  and  his  Tasso  are 
considered  as  masterpieces  of  poetic  style. 

Goëthe's  art  of  writing  is  not  less  perceptible  in  his  prose  than 
in  his  poetry.  His  three  novels,  Werther,  William  Meister,  and 
Elective  Affinities,  are  regarded  in  Germany  as  models  of  classic 
composition. 

Werther  is  so  well  known  in  England,  that  to  enter  into  any 
account  of  that  work  would  be  superfluous.  William  Meister* 
is  imbued  with  enthusiasm  of  imagination  and  feeling,  united  to 
glowing  and  faithful  descriptions  of  the  beauties  of  nature; 
but  it  is  inferior  to  Werther  in  force  of  interest  and  well-main- 
tained action.  The  most  powerful  degree  of  emotion  is  excited 
by  the  episode  of  the  lovely  and  devoted  Mignon.  This  novel 
contains  one  of  Goëthe's  most  admired  lyric  compositions,  which 
is  sung  by  Mignon,  accompanied  by  the  guitar,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  second  volume.  This  song  has  been  set  to  music 
by  Reichardt,  whose  soul-breathing  melody  admirably  blends 
with  the  eloquent  poetry  to  which  it  is  adapted.  It  is  the  fa- 
vourite 

"  Kennst  du  das  land,  wo  die  citronen  blohn," 

which  is  well  known  in  England  by  Beresford's  translation, 
adapted  to  Reichardt's  music, 

"  Know'st  thou  the  land,  where  citrons  scent  the  gale." 

The  philosophic  and  religious  opinions  expressed  in  the  novel 
of  William  Meister  produced  a  powerful  impression  in  Germany, 
as  they  were  presumed  to  be  hostile  to  Protestantism.  The 
Memoirs  have  already  shown  that  Goëthe  is  a  poet,  a  philoso- 
pher, and  a  protestant,  after  his  own  method.  But  though  he 
professed  to  be  a  sincere  Protestant,  he  has,  in  the  work  above 
alluded  to,  evinced  a  taste  for  the  pomp  and  ceremonies  of  the 
catholic  religion. 

Of  the  celebrated  novel,  entitled  Elective  Affinities,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  observe,  that  it  serves  further  to  unfold  the  talent  of 
the  author,  though  that  talent  is  employed  in  realizing  a  con- 

*  We  observe  a  translation  of  this  work  is  just  announced  for  publication. 


298 


MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE. 


ception  which  is  not  of  the  most  happy  or  moral  description: 
For  this  reason,  perhaps,  the  colouring  is  less  vivid  and  natural 
than  in  Werther  and  William  Meister. 

«  Of  Goethe's  numerous  writings  on  art  and  literature,  those 
which  have  most  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  taste  in 
Germany  are  ;    The   Propylea,    (a   periodical   publication  ;) 

TVinckelmann  and  his  Jige  ;  Considerations  on  Men  celebrated  in 
France  during  the  Eighteenth  Century;  and  the  observations 
annexed  to  his  translation  of  the  Memoirs  of  Benvenuto  Cellini. 
A II  these  works  are  distinguished  for  novel,  original,  and  inge- 
nious views,  solid  and  extensive  information,  and  that  shrewdness 
of  penetration  which  characterizes  superior  genius  ;  while  at  the 
same  time  they  are  equally  remarkable  for  a  brilliant  elegance 
of  style. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES 

OF  THE 

PRINCIPAL  PERSONS 

MENTIONED  IN  THESE  MEMOIRS. 


ABBT,  (Thomas)  was  born  at  Ulm  on  the  25th  of  November, 
Î  738.  In  prose  composition  he  ranks  among  the  first  writers  of  Ger- 
many. His  treatises  On  Death  for  the  Country  and  On  Merit ,  which 
were  first  printed  at  Berlin  in  1761  and  1765,  are  highly  esteemed. 
These  works  bear  evidence  of  a  lofty  and  powerful  mind,  an  upright 
and  feeling  heart,  and  a  delicate  imagination.  Abbt's  style  is  ener- 
getic, dignified,  and  concise  :  perhaps  the  effort  to  attain  conciseness 
is  sometimes  carried  so  far  as  to  produce  a  degree  of  obscurity.  The 
treatises  above  mentioned,  together  with  a  translation  of  Sallust, 
worthy  of  the  original,  afford  proofs  of  extensive  and  well-directed 
information.  Abbt  was  at  once  a  theologist,  a  mathematician,  and 
a  philosopher.  He  possessed  a  great  knowledge  of  literature,  and 
of  the  ancient  and  modern  languages.  He  had  discharged  the  func- 
tions of  professor  of  philosophy  at  Frankfort-on-the-Oder,  and  of 
professor  of  mathematics  at  Rinteln  ;  and  he  had  just  been  called  to 
the  University  of  Halle,  when  he  was  appointed,  by  the  Count  Von 
Schaumburgh-Lippe,  a  member  of  his  council  and  of  the  consistory, 
and  director  of  the  Lutheran  schools  at  Buckeburgh.  At  Berlin, 
Abbt  became  acquainted  with  Euler,  Moses  Mendelssohn,  and  Ni- 
colai.  During  his  travels  in  Switzerland,  France,  and  Upper  Ger- 
many, he  had  maintained  an  intercourse  with  Schœpflin,  Bonnet, 
Bernouilli,  Iselin,  Moeser,  and  many  other  men  of  literary  celebrity. 
He  died  at  Buckeburgh  of  a  hemorrhoidal  colic  on  the  3d  of  No- 
vember, 1766,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight.  When  we  consider  what 
he  had  already  done,  and  what  might  have  been  expected  from  him, 
his  premature  death  cannot  but  be  regarded  as  a  serious  loss  to  lite- 
rature. A  monument  was  erected  to  his  memory  by  Count  Von 
Schaumburgh-Lippe,  who  himself  wrote  the  inscriptions  for  it  ;  a 
tribute  equally  honourable  to  the  count,  and  to  the  estimable  man 
whose  loss  he  regretted. 

AUREA  CATENA  HOMERI.    See  Favrat. 

BASEDOW,  (John  Bernard)  known  also  by  the  name  of  Bernard 
Von  Nordalbinsren.    He  was  born  at  Hamburgh  in  1724,  and  died  at 


300 


KIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


Magdeburg  on  the  25th  of  July,  1790.  He  was  at  first  professor  of 
Philosophy  at  the  Gymnasium  of  Altcna  ;  and  he  afterwards  founded 
the  institute  of  education  at  Dessau,  of  which  he  was  director  until 
1778.  He  was  no  less  celebrated  in  his  time,  than  Pestalozzi  now 
is,  for  his  exertions  for  the  improvement  of  Education  on  a  system 
of  his  own.  He  developed  his  plan  in  a  pamphlet,  written  in  Latin, 
and  printed  at  Kiel  in  1752.  His  whole  life  was  occupied  in  explain- 
ing and  defending  his  method  against  numerous  attacks,  which  were 
chiefly  excited  by  his  peculiar  mode  of  viewing  religious  instruction. 
He  published  a  vast  number  of  writings  for  this  purpose. 

BENGEL,  (John  Albert)  born  in  1667,  at  Wimreden  in  Wurtem- 
berg, and  died  in  1752.  He  was  a  clergyman  and  professor  at  Den- 
kendorf,  and  the  first  Lutheran  theologist  who  treated  as  a  whole, 
and  with  deep  attention,  the  criticism  of  the  Scriptures  of  the  New 
Testament.  His  work  on  the  explanation  of  the  Revelation  of  St. 
John,  or  rather  of  Christ,  is  celebrated.  Among  other  writings  by 
Bengel,  is  that  on  the  exact  agreement  of  the  four  Evangelists. 

BODE,  (John  Joachim  Christopher)  was  born  at  Brunswick  on 
the  16th  of  January,  1730.  He  was  one  of  those  men,  more  nu- 
merous in  Germany  than  in  any  other  country,  who,  being  born  in 
poverty,  have  by  dint  of  talent  and  industry,  triumphed  over  the 
rigours  of  fate.  His  father  was  originally  a  day  labourer,  but  he  be- 
came a  soldier,  and  afterwards  deserted.  Bode's  first  occupation 
was  tending  his  grandfather's  flocks.  His  health  when  a  child  was 
very  delicate  ;  and  he  obtained  the  nickname  of  silly  Christopher, 
because  he  showed  no  aptitude  for  mechanical  labours.  His  paternal 
uncle  having  decided  that  he  should  learn  music  on  account  of  his  taste 
for  that  art,  he  obtained  the  situation  of  hautboy  player  in  a  regiment. 
Mis  inclination  for  study  was  not  less  ardent  than  his  love  for  music. 
He  soon  learned  many  languages,  and  cultivated  with  equal  success 
his  twofold  talent  for  music  and  literature.  He  composed  concertos, 
solos,  symphonies,  and  published  at  Leipsic,  in  1754  and  1756,  some 
collections  of  odes  and  songs.  Having  lost  his  first  wife  and  three 
children,  he  repaired  to  Hamburgh,  where  he  presented  to  the 
theatre,  which  was  then  under  the  management  of  Koch,  the  cele- 
brated actor,  several  comedies  imitated  from  the  French,  Italian,  and 
English.  In  17Ô2  and  1763  he  became  editor  of  the  Hambiirgischen 
unpartheiischen  Korrcspondenten,  (the  well-known  Hamburgh  Corres- 
pondent,) which  has  long  been  one  of  the  most  esteemed  journals  in 
Germany.  His  talents  as  a  composer  and  an  artist  procured  him  at 
the  same  time  great  popularity.  He  married  one  of  his  pupils, 
Mademoiselle  Simonette  Kam,  a  young  lady  possessed  of  beauty, 
accomplishments,  and  fortune.  But  the  happiness  which  crowned 
this  union  was  but  of  short  duration.  In  about  a  year  after  her 
marriage,  Madame  Bode  lost  her  life  in  consequence  of  a  fall  from 
her  horse.  Bode  renounced,  in  favour  of  his  wife's  relations,  the 
greater  part  of  the  fortune  which  she  had  left  him.  To  relieve  his 
mind  by  occupation  suited  to  his  taste,  he  entered  into  business  as  a 
bookseller,  in  which  Lessing  was  his  partner.    The  first  work  pub- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICED 


301 


iished  by  Bode  wa9  Lessing's  Dramaturgic  Neither  of  the  partners, 
however,  possessed  the  requisite  experience  for  the  business  in 
which  they  had  engaged,  and  they  were  obliged  to  renounce  it. 
Bode's  third  wife  was  the  daughter  of  Bohn,  the  bookseller  of  Ham- 
burgh, by  whom  he  had  four  children,  who,  with  their  mother,  died 
in  the  space  of  ten  years.  The  merit  and  talent  of  Bode  procured 
him  the  confidence  of  the  Countess  Von  Bernstorf.  widow  of  the 
great  Danish  minister,  whom  he  had  known  at  Hamburgh.  This 
lady  confided  to  him  the  direction  of  her  affairs,  and  took  him  with 
her  to  Weimar,  where  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  inde- 
pendence, and  in  circumstances  the  most  agreeable  and  favourable 
to  his  literary  pursuits.  He  was  successively  honoured  with  the 
titles  of  Court-Counsellor  by  the  Prince  of  Saxe-Meiningen,  Coun- 
sellor of  Legation  by  the  Duke  of  Saxe-Gotha,  and  Privy  Counsel- 
lor by  the  Margrave  of  Hesse-Darmstadt.  After  making  a  tour  in 
Lower  Saxony  and  visiting  Paris,  he  died  on  the  13th  of  December, 
1793. 

Bode  has  enriched  the  literature  of  Germany  by  his  excellent 
translations  from  foreign  productions,  and  particularly  from  the 
English.  His  translations  of  Sterne's  Works,  of  Humphrey  Clinker, 
the  Vricar  of  Wakefield,  and  Clavijo's  Pensador,  are  considered  as 
masterpieces.  He  also  produced  some  happy  imitations  of  Sterne. 
His  translation  of  Montaigne's  Essays  is  considered  excellent. 

M.  Bottiger,  the  friend  of  Bode,  and  the  author  of  Sabina,  or  the 
Toilette  of  a  Roman  Lady,  has  written  a  very  interesting  essay  on 
his  literary  life. 

BODMER,  (John  Jacob,)  a  native  of  Switzerland.  He  was 
born  on  the  19th  of  July,  1698.  He  became  a  member  of  the  grand 
Council  of  Zurich,  and  was  professor  of  Helvetic  history  at  the 
Gymnasium  of  that  Canton  for  fifty  years.  Bodmer,  who  was  cele- 
brated as  a  critic,  a  poet,  and  a  man  of  learning,  united  his  efforts  with 
those  of  his  friend  and  countryman  Breitinger,  and  devoted  his  whole 
life  to  the  reform  ofGerman  literature.  The  uninterrupted  publica- 
tion of  observations  on  the  writings  and  periodical  works  of  the  time 
— journals  undertaken  for  the  developement  and  defence  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  taste — a  continual  dispute  maintained  with  Gottsched,  who 
had  set  himself  up  as  the  Aristarchus  of  Germany,  and  from  whom 
the  two  friends  soon  wrested  the  sceptre  of  criticism — an  essay  on 
the  theory  of  the  beautiful  in  poetry  and  literature — the  compo- 
sition of  works  destined  for  the  guidance  and  encouragement  of 
young  writers,  such  as  Klopstock  and  Wieland,  whose  genius  pro- 
mised noble  acquisitions  to  the  literary  glory  of  Germany — such 
were  the  labours  by  which  Bodmer  and  Breitinger  roused  and  direct- 
ed the  talent  of  their  countrymen.  Though  these  two  eminent 
men  may  not  have  attained  the  objects  they  had  in  view,  yet  Germany 
is  materially  indebted  to  their  activity.  Klopstock  and  Wieland 
profited  greatly  by  their  visit  to  Zurich,  and  their  intercourse  with 
Bodmer  and  Breitinger.  It  was  thus  their  talents  became  matured. 
Bodmer  and  Breitinger  merely  pointed  out  the  right  course,  but  that 
was  doing  much.    Goethe  has  pronounced  a  correct  judgment  on 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


their  merit  and  the  utility  of  their  efforts.  Bodmer  died  on  the  2d 
of  January,  1783,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five. 

The  most  known  of  his  works  is  the  poem  of  Noah,  or  the  Noachide, 
published  successively  under  both  these  titles.  This  poem,  which 
is  not  without  merit,  though  it  seldom  rises  above  mediocrity,  first 
appeared  in  the  year  1752.  In  1747  Bodmer  produced  a  work  en- 
titled Pygmalion  and  Elise,  on  the  subject  which  so  happily  inspired 
the  muse  of  Rousseau. 

Bodmer's  most  esteemed  writings  are  :  A  Treatise  On  the  Influence 
and  Employment  of  Imagination  for  the  Perfection  of  Taste,  1727. — 
Letters  on  the  Nature  of  Poetic  Taste,  1736.  -  A  Critical  Dissertation 
on  the  Marvellous  in  Poetry,  and  its  union  with  the  Probable,  1740. — 
Critical  Considerations  on  the  Painting  of  Poetry,  1741. — The  Princi- 
ples of  the  German  Language,  1741.  The  first  volume  of  a  careful 
edition  of  the  poems  of  Opitz,  with  remarks,  and  the  publication  of 
the  works  of  the  old  German  Poets,  called  Minnesingem,  prove  the 
zeal  of  these  two  friends  for  the  preservation  of  the  early  effusions 
of  the  Germanic  Muse. 

BREITINGER, (John  Jacob)  was  bom  at  Zurich,  March  1st,  1701. 
He  was  successively  Professor  of  Hebrew,  Eloquence,  Logir,  and 
Greek,  at  the  Gymnasium  of  his  native  city.  He  was  created  a  Dean, 
and  appointed  superintendent  of  the  candidates  for  the  Evangelical 
chair,  and  in  1745  he  was  made  canon  of  the  cathedral.  He  contri- 
buted all  in  his  power  to  the  advancement  of  literature  and  Christian 
knowledge,  and  to  the  support  of  charitable  establishments.  He 
proved  himself  no  less  zealoHs  for  the  reform  of  German  taste  and 
literature,  an  object  to  which  he  devoted  his  life,  with  his  friend 
Bodmer,  of  whom  he  was  the  constant  fellow-labourer.  He  em- 
braced a  less  extensive  career  than  Bodmer,  limiting  himself  to  the  in- 
vestigation of  the  principles  of  the  beautiful  in  poetry  and  literature  ; 
but  he  was  distinguished  as  a  critic  for  great  judgment,  learning,  and 
taste.  His  Art  of  Poetry,  published  in  1740,  gave  a  new  direction 
to  German  literature,  and  produced  important  results  ;  it  opened  a 
course  for  bolder  attempts  than  had  hitherto  been  made.  As  Goethe 
justly  observes,  he  had  the  merit  of  pointing  out  the  true  end  of 
poetry.  Breitinger  died  on  the  15th  of  December,  1776,  after  an 
active  life  devoted  to  the  service  of  his  country. 

BREITKOPF,  (John  Theophilus  Emmanuel)  born  at  Leipsic  on 
the  23d  of  November,  1719,  and  died  in  that  city  on  the  28th  of  Janu- 
ary, 1794.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  information,  and  an  ex- 
cellent Latin  scholar.  He  improved  the  German  printed  character, 
and  invented  the  best  method  known  for  printing  music,  Chinese 
characters,  &c,  with  moveable  types.  Breitkopfs  collection  of 
types  was  the  finest  in  Europe.  He  had  al^o  a  great  collection  of 
geographical  charts,  drawings,  engravings,  &,c.  ;  a  catalogue  of  which, 
in  3  volumes,  octavo,  was  published  after  his  death.  There  are 
many  works  by  Breitkopf  on  the  art  of  printing  and  on  bibliography. 

BROCKES,  (Barthold  Henry)  was  born  on  the  22d  of  September, 
1680,  at  Hamburgh,  where  his  father  was  a  respectable  merchant. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


303 


His  passion  for  drawing  and  painting  early  inspired  him  with  a  taste 
for  the  study  of  mythology,  history,  and  poetry.  Music,  jurispru- 
dence, the  French  and  Italian  languages,  travels  through  Germany, 
Italy,  Geneva,  and  Holland,  occupied  the  early  part  of  his  life.  On 
his  return  to  his  country  he  married  a  beautiful,  rich,  and  accom- 
plished lady,  whom  he  has  celebrated  in  his  writings  under  the  name 
of  Bclisa.  The  senate  of  Hamburgh  intrusted  him  with  honourable 
missions  to  the  courts  of  Vienna,  Copenhagen,  Berlin,  and  Versailles. 
He  died  at  Hamburgh,  on  the  16th  of  January,  1747. 

The  most  celebrated  work  of  Brockes  is  a  collection  of  moral 
and  descriptive  poems  in  honour  of  Nature  and  God.  The  nine  parts 
of  this  collection  were  successively  published,  and  the  editions  mul- 
tiplied from  1721  to  1748.  These  poems  were  received  with  enthu- 
siasm equal  to  that  which,  at  the  same  period,  was  excited  by  the 
compositions  of  Gellert  ;  but  this  enthusiasm  was  too  soon  succeeded 
by  unjust  oblivion.  The  poetical  works  of  Brockes  are,  however, 
less  to  be  commended  for  their  flowing  and  sometimes  diffuse  style  of 
versification,  than  for  the  devout  and  profound  admiration  which  the 
author  evidently  felt  for  the  beauties  of  nature.  His  pictures  are 
rich  and  varied.  For  dignified  and  graceful  simplicity,  and  pathetic 
sensibility,  Brockes  has  never  been  surpassed.  He  is  considered 
one  of  the  poets  who  have  successively  followed  the  track  of  Opitz 
and  Canitz,  those  restorers  of  German  poetry.  He  translated  Thom- 
son's Seasons  and  Pope's  Essay  on  Man  into  blank  verse. 

BROGL1E,  (Victor  François,  Dnke  of)  Marshal  of  France,  born 
on  the  19th  of  October,  1718,  died  at  Munster  in  1804,  aged  86. 
His  father  and  grandfather  were  also  marshals  of  France.  Broglie 
was,  in  the  opinion  of  a  celebrated  tactician,  the  only  French  general 
whose  skill  never  forsook  him  on  any  occasion  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  vSeven  Years'  War.  He  restored  the  honour  of  the  French 
arms  in  the  battles  of  Sundershausen,  Lutzellberg,  Corbach,  Fillings- 
hausen,  but  particularly  at  the  battle  of  Bergen,  spoken  of  by  Goethe, 
which  was  fought  on  the  13th  of  April,  1759,  and  where,  with  28,000 
men,  he  gained  a  signal  victory  over  the  famous  Prince  Ferdinand  of 
Brunswick,  who  attacked  him  at  the  head  of  40,000  men.  On  the 
1st  of  August  following  the  Marshal  covered  the  retreat  of  the  French 
army,  when  defeated  at  Minden,  under  the  command  of  Marshal  de 
Contades.  The  Duke  of  Broglie  served  in  the  war  in  Bohemia,  and  was 
present  with  Chevert  at  the  taking  of  Prague  by  escalade.  He  fought 
under  Marshal  de  Saxe  at  Rancoux  and  at  Lanfield,  and  in  1757  under 
Marshal  d'Estrées  at  Hastenbeck.  in  1789,  Louis  XVI.  appointed  him 
minister  of  war  and  commander-in-chief  of  the  French  forces. 
There  is  in  the  Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Seven  Years'  War,  pub- 
lished in  Paris  in  1792,  an  account  of  the  Duke's  campaign  in  Ger- 
many, extracted  from  his  own  papers. 

BURGER,  (Gottfried  Augustus)  one  of  the  most  celebrated  modern 
poets  of  Germany.  He  was  born  at  Wolmerswende,  in  the  princi- 
pality of  Halberstadt,  on  the  1st  of  January,  1748.  The  develope- 
ment  of  his  faculties,  both  mental  and  physical,  was  so  extremely 
slow,  that  his  parents  entertained  but  little  hope  of  him.    At  the  age 


304 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


of  ten,  reading  and  writing  were  his  only  acquisitions.  He,  however, 
gave  proofs  of  an  excellent  memory.  He  was  fond  of  solitude  from 
his  earliest  childhood,  and  loved  to  indulge  iu  those  feelings  produced 
by  the  gloom  of  forests  and  desert  places.  His  first  study  was  the 
composition  of  verses.  He  early  evinced  a  great  dislike  to  Latin. 
At  the  expiration  of  two  years'  application,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts, 
which  were  no  doubt  weakened,  instead  of  being  excited  by  the  se- 
vere punishments  he  received,  he  had  scarcely  mastered  the  first 
declension.  He  was  sent  to  school  at  Aschersleben,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  his  grandfather,  where  he  made  little  progress  in  Latin, 
but  continued  to  exercise  himself  in  the  composition  of  poetry.  From 
that  time  he  began  to  incur  dislike  through  the  satirical  spirit  of  his 
epigrams-  One  of  these  compositions  brought  upon  him  so  severe  a 
punishment  that  his  grandfather  withdrew  him  from  the  school,  and  in 
1762  sent  him  to  the  Paedagogium  of  Halle.  Burger's  satirical  vein 
was,  however,  wholly  devoid  of  ill-nature.  In  obedience  to  the  wishes 
of  his  grandfather,  in  1765  he  studied  theology,  for  which,  however, 
he  himself  had  no  taste.  His  love  for  pleasure  drew  upon  him  his 
grandfather's  resentment,  who  recalled  him  from  Halle.  A  recon- 
ciliation having  afterwards  taken  place,  Burger  obtained  permission 
in  1768  to  go  to  Gottingen,  and  to  substitute  ihe  stu<iy  of  jurispru- 
dence for  that  of  theology.  But  for  want  of  due  attention  and  per- 
severance, he  learnt  very  little  with  the  help  of  masters  and  books. 
Thus  he  was  himself  astonished  at  the  knowledge  he  acquired  without 
knowing  how.  His  connexion  with  a  woman  of  light  character,  his 
dissipation,  and  the  debts  he  contracted,  set  his  grandfather  a 
second  time  at  variance  with  him.  His  taste  for  poetry,  however, 
and  the  society  of  young  persons  possessed  of  talent  and  inspired 
with  enthusiasm  for  the  literary  glory  of  Germany,  again  roused  his 
activity  Excited  by  the  example  of  his  friends  Boie,  Bfster,  Spren- 
gel,  Holty,  Miller,  Voss,  the  two  Counts  Stollberg,  Karl,  Friedrick 
Cramer,  and  Leisewitz,  he  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  the  clas- 
sics. Thenceforward  he  was  very  successful  in  that  style  of  bur- 
lesque poetry,  those  sallies  of  wit  and  gayety  which  ensured  popu- 
larity to  a  vast  number  of  his  compositions.  The  celebrated  song 
Bacchus  is  a  jolly  fellow,  &c.  was  written  about  this  time.  The 
works  of  the  great  English,  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  poets,  were 
the  favourite  study  of  Burger  and  his  friends.  To  Boie,  Burger 
was  most  indebted  for  his  improvement.  It  was  he  who  taught  him 
to  study  attentively  correctness  and  elegance  of  style.  Percy's  Re- 
liques of  ancient  English  Poetry  was  his  favourite  book.  Burger 
had  hitherto  been  obliged  to  struggle  against  want  ;  but  his  friend 
Boie  procured  him,  in  1772,  a  situation  in  the  principality  of  Calen- 
berg.  His  return  to  a  more  regular  course  of  life  induced  his  grand- 
father to  pay  his  debts,  and  to  supply  him  with  a  handsome  sum  by 
bills,  a  great  part  of  which  he  lost  through  a  false  friend,  to  whom 
the  money  provided  had  been  intrusted.  This  misfortune  involved 
him  in  embarrassment  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  About  this  time 
he  wrote  his  famous  romance  of  Lenora,  which  was  attended  with  pro- 
digious success.  He  married  in  1774,  but  his  unfortunate  passion 
for  a  younger  sister  of  his  wife  rendered  him  long  unhappy.  He 
"hired  a  farm  at  Appenrode  in  the  hope  of  improving  his  fortune  : 


1ÎI0GRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


305 


but  in  this  hope  he  was  deceived.  He  returned  to  Gottingen  to 
continue  the  publication  of  the  Mmanach  of  the  Muses,  which  he  had 
undertaken  in  1778.  At  Gottingen  he  gave  a  course  of  lectures  on 
aesthetics  and  on  literary  style.  Having  lost  his  wife  in  1784,  he 
married  in  the  following  year  his  beloved  Molly,  whom  he  has  so 
often  celebrated.  He,  however,  lost  her  a  short  time  after  the  birth 
of  a  daughter,  and,  in  consequence  of  this  misfortune,  grief  for 
some  time  exhausted  the  health  and  faculties  of  Burger.  He  endea- 
voured to  rouse  himself  by  occupation.  He  studied  Kant's  Philo- 
sophy, upon  which  he  delivered  lectures  which  were  much  esteem- 
ed. He  was  now  appointed  extraordinary  professor  at  Gottingen, 
without  the  receipt  of  any  emolument.  Burger  had  formed  the  de- 
termination of  marrying  again,  in  order  to  provide  a  mother  for  his 
three  children,  when  a  young  lady  of  Stuttgard,  who  had  been  cap- 
tivated by  his  poetry,  made  him  an  offer  of  her  heart  and  hand,  in  a 
poem  which  she  addressed  to  him.  At  first  Burger  could  not  per- 
suade himself  that  this  proposal  was  serious.  However  he  made 
some  inquiries  respecting  his  fair  admirer,  who  was  represented  to 
bira  under  the  most  favourable  point  of  view  ;  and  the  poetic  reply 
he  made  to  her  established  a  literary  correspondence  between  them 
which  terminated  in  their  union.  But  this  marriage  soon  proved 
a  source  of  bitter  vexation  to  Burger,  and  it  is  supposed  to  have  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  accelerate  his  death.  He  survived  only  two 
years  after  his  separation  from  this  third  wife.  His  death  took  place 
on  the  8th  of  June,  1794. 

Neither  Burger's  character  nor  conduct  are  faultless  ;  but  his 
heart  was  ever  kind  and  benevolent  even  in  the  midst  of  misfortune. 
A  generous  or  noble  action  always  excited  his  enthusiasm  ;  and  though 
he  had  been  frequently  deceived  by  those  in  whom  he  reposed  confi- 
dence, yet  so  far  from  thinking  mankind  generally  bad,  he  formed  the 
most  favourable  opinion  of  human  nature.  With  a  full  consciousness 
of  his  own  merit  as  a  poet,  he  was  perfectly  modest.  He  was  free  from 
all  ambition  and  pretension,  and  spoke  but  little  in  company;  and  though 
he  did  not  possess  the  manners  of  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world, 
yet  he  knew  how  to  render  himself  agreeable  to  the  fair  sex,  whose 
favour  he  was  always  anxious  to  gain.  He  was  sincerely  attached  to 
his  family  and  friends,  and  as  he  was  incapable  of  any  feeling  of  envy, 
the  success  of  his  literary  competitors  afforded  him  as  much  pleasure, 
as  though  approbation  had  been  bestowed  on  himself. 

Burger's  writings  are  of  various  kinds.  He  composed  songs 
(many  of  which  may  be  ranked  in  the  class  of  odes,)  pathetic  and 
comic  romances,  ballads,  tales  full  of  humour  and  originality,  sonnets, 
erotic  poems,  epigrams,  &c.  He  restored  to  favour  the  sonnet  style 
of  composition,  which  had  long  been  neglected  and  despised  in  Ger- 
many. 

A  complete  collection  of  Burger's  poems  was  published  by  Dr.. 
Charles  Reinhard,  at  Gottingen,  in  the  years  1776  and  1797,  in 
two  volumes  octavo,  embellished  with  a  portrait  of  the  author,  and 
several  other  engravings. 

The  most  celebrated  of  Burger's  poems  are  the  following  : — a 
free  imitation  of  the  Pervigilium  Veneris,  under  the  title  of  the  Fes- 
tival of  Venus;  Adeline,  from  Parnell  :  Leonardo  and  Blandiné  ;  thf 


306 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE** 


popular  romance  of  Leonora,  of  which  there  are  six  different  English 
translations  ;  a  poem  To  Agatha,  a  lady  who  was  admired  and  cele- 
brated by  Gemmingen,  Zacharia,  and  Burger  ;  a  burlesque  poem 
founded  on  the  story  of  Europa  ;  Knight  Charles  of  Eichenhorst,  and 
the  fair  Gertrude  of  Hochburgh  :  the  Daughter  of  the  Rector  of  Tau- 
benhain,  &c.  Lc. 

In  the  years  17$7  and  1798,  Dr.  Reinhard  also  published  Burger's 
miscellaneous  works.  This  collection  contains,  among  other  things, 
several  cantos  of  the  Iliad,  translated  into  iambic  verse  ;  versified 
translations  of  several  of  Ossian's  poems  ;  some  fragments  of  the 
JEneid,  and  a  translation  of  Macbeth.  This  last  production  appeared 
in  1784.  There  is  also  a  poetic  translation  of  this  tragedy  by  Schiller. 

Burger  has  likewise  left  behind  him  some  prose  translations,  and 
critical  writings,  which  are  highly  esteemed.  He  wrote  for  several 
public  journals,  and  from  the  year  1779,  until  the  period  of  his  death, 
which  happened  in  1794,  he  edited  the  Almanack  of  the  Muses  at 
Gottingen. 

If  Burger  did  not  fulfil  the  ideal  character  of  a  poet,  according  to 
the  fastidious  notions  of  perfection  conceived  by  Schiller,  yet  he  is 
nevertheless  esteemed  as  one  of  the  first  modern  poets  of  Germany 
for  energy  and  richness  of  imagination,  delicate  humour,  and  correct 
and  beautiful  versification.  He  claims  the  very  highest  rank  for  na- 
ture and  truth  in  the  ballad  style  of  composition.  No  one  ever  knew 
better  how  to  conciliate  poetic  talent  with  a  style  conformable  to  the 
taste  of  the  multitude.  He  is  the  most  popular  poet  among  the  Ger- 
mans :  it  was  his  object  to  render  himself  such,  and  he  has  com- 
pletely succeeded.  His  countrymen  are  fully  aware  of  the  sacri- 
fices he  incurred  by  this  sort  of  celebrity,  which  was  long  the  ardent 
object  of  his  wishes.  He'now  and  then  descends  into  absurd  triviality; 
and  he  is  not  exempt  from  exaggeration  and  bombast.  But  his  merits 
more  than  counterbalance  his  defects  ;  and  Burger  enjoys  in  an  emi- 
nent degree  the  approbation  of  literary  judges  and  the  favour  of  the 
multitude. 

CAN1TZ, (Frederick  Rudolph  Ludowig,  Baron  Von.)  Born  at  Ber- 
lin on  the  27th  of  November,  1654.  His  life  was  devoted  to  diplo- 
matic affairs,  and  to  public  business  of  various  kinds.  He  was  a  fa- 
vourite of  the  Elector  Frederick  William,  and  of  his  successor,  and 
he  was  constantly  employed  by  those  two  Princes.  He  died  in  his 
native  city  on  the  11th  of  August,  1699.  In  his  youth  he  manifest- 
ed a  great  passion  for  poetry,  which  subsequently  afforded  him  a 
source  of  recreation  amidst  his  more  serious  occupations.  Canifz 
had  the  merit  of  contending  against  the  prevailing  taste  of  his  co- 
temporaries,  which  was  corrupted  by  the  example  of  the  Italian  poeti 
of  the  17th  century  ;  and  he  imparted  a  superior  tone  to  German 
poetry  by  the  production  of  compositions  distinguished  for  sound 
judgment,  and  enlivened  by  wit.  Disdaining  the  success  of  Hoff- 
manswaldau  and  Lohenstein,  he  followed  the  traces  of  Opitz,  and 
adopted  purity  of  style  and  correctness  of  versification.  Warmth, 
delicacy,  and  richness  of  imagination,  are  not  the  qualities  which 
characterize  the  poetry  of  Canitz  ;  but  it  is  distinguished  for  natural 
ease,  clearness,  and  elegance.    His  lively  muse  imparts  an  irresistible 


BlOGRAPHfCAL  NOTICES' 


307 


charm  to  the  language  of  reason.  His  style  was  much  admired  by 
Frederick  the  Great  ;  and  Canitz  was  almost  the  only  German  poet  to 
whom  that  monarch  attached  any  value.  The  poems  of  Canitz  were 
not  published  until  after  his  death.  Of  all  his  works,  his  satires  are 
most  esteemed  ;  they  approximate  to  the  gay  and  to  the  light  irony  of 
Horace,  and  the  judgment  of  Boileau,  rather  than  to  the  philosophic 
spirit  of  Persius,  or  the  bitter  vein  of  Juvenal. 

The  collected  poems  of  Canitz  have  passed  through  twelve  edi- 
tions. That  which  was  published  by  Ulric  Loenigat  Berlin  in  1717, 
with  a  life  of  the  author,  overcharged  with  useless  details  and  pe- 
dantic reflections,  has  served  as  a  model  for  all  the  rest. 

CELLAR1US,  in  German  KELLER, (Christopher,)  one  of  the  most 
learned  and  diligent  philologists  of  the  seventeenth  century.  This 
is  probably  t he  Cellarius  of  whom  Goëthe  speaks,  and  he  doubtless 
studied  his  Historic!  Antiqua,  and  his  Notitia  Orbis.  This  latter  work, 
the  third  e  lition  of  which  was  published  at  Leipsic  in  1731,  was,  arid 
still  is,  the  most  complete  treatise  on  ancient  geography  ;  it  cannot, 
however,  be  called  the  best,  for  the  author  was  rather  a  compiler 
than  a  geographer.  Christopher  Cellarius  was  born  at  Smalkald  in 
Franconia.  He  was  Professor  of  Eloquence  and  History  at  the 
University  of  Halle,  where  he  died  on  the  4th  of  June,  1707. 

CLOD1US,  (Christian  Augustus,)  was  born  at  Anneburg,  in  the 
Electoral  Circle  of  Saxony.    In  173H  he  became  professor  of  Phi- 
losophy, Logic,  and  Poetry  at  the  University  of  Leipsic,  and  he  was 
appointed  perpetual  secretary  of  the  Literary  Society  founded  in 
that  city  by  Jablonowsky.    Clodius  died  at  Leipsic  on  the  30th  of 
Nov.  1784.    Without  being  ranked  among  the  classical  writers  of 
Germany,  he  holds  an  honourable  place  among  the  most  distinguished 
literary  characters  to  which  that  country  has  given  birth.    His  pro- 
found knowledge  of  the  writers  of  antiquity,  and  his  correct  appre- 
ciation of  their  merits,  justly  entitle  him  to  the  reputation  of  a  learned 
and  intelligent  philologist.    His  Essays  on  Literature  and  Morality 
are  esteemed  his  best  productions.    They  were  published  in  four 
parts,  8vo.  at  Leipsic,  between  the  years  1767  and  1769.  These 
essays,  which  include  an  excellent  analysis  of  the  comedies  of  Aris- 
tophanes, established  the  reputation  of  Clodius,  and  afford  a  more 
correct  idea  of  his  talent  than  any  of  his  other  productions.  His 
work  on  Euripides  is  also  very  highly  esteemed.    His  Mendin,  how- 
ever, does  not  rise  above  mediocrity.    This  is  the  drama  on  which 
Goëthe  wrote  a  parody  in  the  year  1767,  and  which  was  his  first  at- 
tempt in  the  career  of  literature.    But  some  short  poems  by  Clo- 
dius, in  the  idyllic  and  pastoral  style,  are  remarkably  happy  imita- 
tions of  the  classic  poets.    His  prose  style,  which  is  certainly  ex- 
tremely energetic,  has  been  censured  as  being  somewhat  too  pom- 
pous and  ornamental  :  but  his  pure  morality  and  elevated  sentiment 
never  fail  to  secure  the  interest  of  the  reader.     Clodius  mar- 
ried Julia  Frederica  Henrietta  Stolzel,  who  was  distinguished  for 
her  literary  talents.    After  the  death  of  Clodius,  in  the  year  1787, 
she  published  translations  of  the  poems  of  Elizabeth  Carter  and 
Charlotte  Smith,  which  are  characterized  by  all  the  elegance  and 


308 


BIOGRAFHICAi  NOTICES. 


ieeling  of  the  originals.  She  also  began  in  the  same  year  to  edit  a 
periodical  publication,  which  had  been  commenced  by  her  husband, 
under  the  title  of  the  Odeum,  in  which  she  gave  a  notice  of  his  life 
and  writings.  This  miscellany  contains  many  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive  articles.    Clodius  was  the  friend  of  Kleist  and  Gellert. 

Professor  Clodius  is  not  the  writer  mentioned  by  Madame  de  Staël 
in  her  work  on  Germany.  The  individual  there  alluded  to  is  Mat- 
thias Claudius,  surnamed  Asmus,  or  the  .Messenger  of  Wansbeck,  a 
little  town  near  Hamburgh,  where  he  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 
life.  He  was  born  in  Remfield,a  town  in  Holstein,  not  far  from  Lu- 
beck,  in  1743  ;  and  he  renounced  several  employments  to  lead  a  life 
of  independence  at  Wansbeck.  Both  as  a  poet  and  a  moralist,  Claudius 
ranks  among  the  most  original  writers  of  Germany.  His  poems  con- 
sist of  songs,  romances,  elegies,  fables,  &c.  His  songs  have  enjoyed 
the  highest  popularity,  and  have  been  set  to  music  by  the  most  cele- 
brated composers  ;  and  his  prose  writings  embrace  a  great  variety 
of  subjects  under  very  various  forms.  His  collected  works,  poetic 
and  prose,  were  published  in  seven  volumes,  between  the  years 
(775  and  1803,  under  the  singular  title  of  Asmus  omnia  sua  secum 
portans,  or  the  Works  of  the  Messenger  of  Wansbeck.  The  first  parts 
of  this  publication  excited  the  highest  interest.  The  author  pro- 
fesses a  popular  kind  of  philosophy.  Truth  to  nature,  originality, 
gayety,  and  a  style  suited  to  the  taste  of  the  multitude,  are  the 
means  employed  by  Claudius  to  inculcate  his  ideas,  and  to  give 
currency  to  useful  truths.  His  originality,  however,  is  not  always 
of  the  happiest  kind.  He  frequently  evinces  great  feeling,  judg- 
ment, wit,  and  fancy  ;  but  his  writings  are,  on  the  other  hand, 
often  disfigured  by  triviality,  whimsicality,  and  low  buffoonery.  He 
does  not  always  discriminate  between  the  natural  and  the  vulgar  ; 
and  his  endeavours  to  preserve  simplicity  sometimes  betray  him  into 
a  puerile  style.  Claudius  translated  from  the  French,  Ramsay's 
Travels  of  Cyrus,  Terasson's  Sethos,  and  St.  Martin's  work  On  Error 
and  Truth. 

CLOTZ,  (Christian  Adolphus.)  Born  at  Bischoffwerda,  on  the 
13th  of  November,  1738,  and  died  at  Berlin  on  the  31st  of  Decem- 
ber, 1771.  Clotz  was  a  man  of  profound  learning  and  extensive  in- 
formation, and  a  writer  of  considerable  wit.  He  was  first  Professor 
of  Philosophy  at  Gottingen,  and  afterwards  Professor  of  Rhetoric  at 
Halle.  He  became  involved  in  literary  disputes  with  Fischer,  Bur- 
mann,  J.  A.  Ernesti,  and  Lessing.  His  work,  entitled  Vindicice  Hora- 
tianœ,  in  which  he  defends  Horace  against  Father  Hardouin,  is  much 
esteemed.  It  was  originally  published  in  1764,  and  was  reprinted 
in  1770,  with  additions  under  the  title  of  Lectiones  Venusinœ.  His 
other  principal  productions  are  the  Manners  of  Learned  Men  ; — The 
Genius  of  the  Age  ; — and  Literary  Fops,  three  facetious  and  satirical 
works,  which  were  published  at  Altenburgh  in  1761  and  1762. 

CREUZ  (Frederick  Charles  Casimir,  Baron  von.)  Born  in  1724 
at  Hamburgh,  and  died  in  that  city  on  the  6th  of  September,  1770. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  esteemed  poets  of  Germany  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  Goethe  and  Schiller.    His  poetry  is  imbued  with  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES, 


309 


tone  of  gloom  and  melancholy  which  pervades  the  writings  of  Young. 
His  principal  poems  are  The  Tombs,  in  six  cantos,  followed  by  Odes, 
and  Philosophic  Reflections,  published  at  Frankfort  in  1760.  Creuz 
resided  for  a  considerable  time  at  Berlin  ;  and  he  was  Counsellor 
of  State  and  Privy  Counsellor  to  the  Prince  of  Hesse  Homburg. 

CRUSIUS,  or,  in  German,  KRANS,  (Christian  Augustus.)  Born 
on  the  10th  of  June,  1715,  in  the  town  of  Lenna,  near  Merseburgh, 
in  Saxony,  where  his  father  filled  the  situation  of  rector.  He  was 
for  a  considerable  period  Professor  of  Philosophy  and  Theology  at  the 
University  of  Leipsic  ;  and  was  at  the  head  of  the  mystic  school, 
which,  as  Goethe  observes,  was  opposed  by  the  celebrated  Ernesti. 
In  Crusius,  the  character  of  the  philosopher  must  be  distinguished 
from  that  of  the  theologist.  His  writings  are  acknowledged  to  possess 
greater  depth  and  clearness  than  those  of  any  German  philosopher 
before  the  time  of  Kant.  His  works  on  logic,  metaphysics,  and  phi- 
losophy, exercised  considerable  influence  over  Kant  himself.  His 
most  esteemed  works  are  The  Direction  of  the  Human  Understanding 
for  the  Attainment  of  Truth  ; — Instructions  how  to  Live  according  to  the 
Laws  of  Reason; — and  the  Theory  of  Human  Attachments.  Crusius 
died  at  Leipsic  on  the  18th  of  October,  1775. 

DARIES, (Joachim  George,)  was  born  at  Gustrowin  1714,  and  died 
on  the  17th  of  July,  1791.  He  was  Professor  of  Philosophy  and 
Law,  and  Director  of  the  Universities  of  Frankforl-on-the-Oder. 
He  wrote  many  works  on  philosophy  and  law. 

DROLL1NGER,  (Charles  Frederick,)  was  born  at  Durlach  oa 
the  26th  of  December,  1688.  An  ardent  passion  for  poetry  was 
to  Drolhnger  as  to  Canitz,  merely  a  source  of  amusement,  his  whole 
life  having  been  devoted  to  more  serious  occupations.  He  possessed 
an  extensive  knowledge  of  ancient  and  modern  languages,  history, 
law,  philosophy,  and  mathematics  ;  and  he  was  successively  keeper 
of  the  library,  the  cabinet  of  medals,  and  the  gallery  of  pictures  in  the 
castle  of  Durlach,  and  first  archivist  to  the  Margrave  of  Baden.  He 
was  deeply  versed  in  the  old  language  of  Germany  ;  and  he  prepared 
a  glossary  of  that  dialect  a*4t  was  spoken  in  the  time  of  Rodolph  Von 
Hapsburg.  He  arranged  in  admirable  order  the  archives  of  the  Mar- 
grave of  Baden,  of  whose  confidence  he  received  the  most  honour- 
able testimonies.  Drollinger  too  early  sunk  beneath  the  weight  of 
his  various  labours  ;  and  died  at  Basle  universally  regretted,  on  the 
1st  of  June,  1742. 

Drollinger,  with  Canitz  and  Brockes,  may  be  ranked  among  the 
few  German  poets  who  reflected  honour  on  their  country  before 
Haller's  time.  He  at  first  allowed  himself  to  be  misled  by  the  bad 
taste  of  Hotfmanswaldau  and  Lohenstein  ;  but  the  poetry  of  Canitz 
soon  brought  him  back  to  a  better  course.  He  began  to  write  be- 
fore the  criticism  of  Bodmer  and  Breitinger,  and  the  example  of 
Hagedorn  and  Haller,  had  reformed  the  taste  of  their  countrymen  ; 
and  he  subsequently  proved  himself  worthy  to  compete  with  his  young 
rivals.  For  natural  feeling,  pure  and  energetic  expression,  and  har- 
mony of  versification,  his  compositions  are  distinguished  from  those 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


of  his  numerous  cotemporary  rhymesters.  In  feeling  and  purity  of 
style  he  frequently  rises  to  a  level  with  Haller,  and  of  all  the 
poets  of  his  day,  Haller  alone  surpasses  him  in  conciseness  and  depth 
of  ideas.  The  poems  which  chiefly  contributed  to  raise  the  reputa- 
tion of  Drollinger,  are  his  odes,  entitled  Praise  of  the  Deity,  the  Im- 
mortality of  the  Soul,  and  Divine  Providence.  They  display  through- 
out a  degree  of  energy  and  masculine  spirit,  which  had  not  previously 
been  evinced  in  German  poetry. 

The  poetic  and  prose  works  of  Drollinger  were  first  published  in 
two  parts  at  Basle,  in  1743. 

ERNESTI,  (John  Augustus.)  Born  at  Tennstadt,  in  Thuringen, 
on  the  4th  of  August,  1707,  and  died  at  Leipsic  on  the  11th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1781.  He  was  professor  of  ancient  literature,  rhetoric,  and 
theology  at  the  university  of  Leipsic,  and  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished critics  of  Germany  in  philology,  sacred  and  profane.  His 
editions  of  Homer,  Callimachus,  Polybius,  Tacitus,  and  Suetonius 
are  accounted  among  the  best  ;  but  the  palm  is  awarded  to  his  com- 
plete edition  of  Cicero,  with  a  Clavis  Ciceroniana,  which  has  been 
several  times  reprinted  to  he  added  to  the  other  octavo  editions  of 
the  same  author.  In  his  editions  of  the  classics,  Ernesti's  object  was. 
by  extreme  correctness  in  the  texts,  to  obviate,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  necessity  of  the  notes  which  have  been  supplied  by  other  com- 
mentators. His  Initia  doctrinœ  sdidioris,  in  octavo,  which  has  gone 
through  several  editions,  is  considered  as  an  excellent  course  of  lite- 
rature. The  German  Theologists  also  esteem,  as  a  classical  pro- 
duction, his  Insiitutio  interpretis  JVovi  Testamenti,  which  has  also  been 
frequently  reprinted.  He  there  lays  down  critical  rules  for  the 
elucidation  and  explanation  of  the  Scriptures.  He  has  also  left  be- 
hind him  a  Theological  Library,  in  ten  volumes,  octavo,  to  which  some 
other  writers  contributed.  For  a  further  notice  of  Ernesti,  see, 
among  other  works,  W.  A.  Teller's  Account  of  what  Theology  and 
Religion  owe  to  Ernesti,  printed  at  Berlin,  in  octavo,  in  1783,  with  a 
supplement  by  J.  Sal.  Semler. 

ESC  H  EN  BURG,  (John  Joachim.)  Born  at  Hamburgh  on  the  7th 
of  December,  1743.  Eschenburg,  who  is  one  of  the  most  diligent 
writers  of  Germany,  first  attended  the  university  of  Leipsic,  where 
he  was  the  fellow-student  of  Goethe,  and  he  afterward  went  to 
Gottingeh.  The  ancient  and  modern  languages,  antiquities,  archai- 
ology,  mythology,  and  the  history  of  art,  are  the  subjects  embraced 
within  his  extended  circle  of  information.  After  the  death  of  Za- 
charia,  he  was  appointed  Professor  of  Polite  Literature  at  the  Caro- 
line college  of  Brunswick  ;  and  he  filled  this  post  up  to  the  period 
when  the  establishment  was  converted  into  a  military  academy,  during 
the  ephemeral  existence  of  the  kingdom  of  Westphalia. 

Eschenburg,  by  his  writings  and  translations,  has  most  materially 
contributed  to  diffuse  a  taste  for  English  lilerature  in  Germany.  His 
translation  of  Shakspeare's  works,  which  includes  the  plays  pre- 
viously translated  by  Wieland,  and  which  is  accompanied  by  excel- 
lent historical  commentaries  and  criticisms,  has  rendered  the  works 
of  the  great  English  dramatist  exceedingly  popular  in  Germany. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES» 


311 


This  translation,  together  with  the  annotations,  has  been  several 
times  reprinted,  and  carefully  improved  in  every  new  edition.  Es- 
chenburg  published  in  1787  a  Notice  on  William  Shakspeare,  which  is 
highly  esteemed. 

Next  to  the  translation  of  Shakspeare,  the  most  celebrated  works 
of  Eschenberg  are  a  Theory  of  Polite  Literature,  and  a  Manual  of 
Classic  Literature.  The  former,  which  has  gone  through  three 
editions,  includes  a  collection  of  examples  in  all  the  classical  lan- 
guages, ancient  and  modern;  comprising  the  be*?  fragments  of  the  most 
distinguished  poets  and  prose  writers  of  every  literary  nation.  The 
Manual  of  Classic  Literature  is  divided  into  five  parts  ;  1st,  Archaio- 
logy  ;  2d,  Notices  on  the  classic  writers  ;  3d,  Mythology  ;  4th, 
Greek  antiquities  ;  and  5th,  Roman  antiquities.  Of  this  work  five 
editions  have  been  published.  The  latest  appeared  in  1808.  A 
French  translation,  with  additions  by  C.  F.  Cramer,  was  published 
in  Paris,  1802.  Eschenburg  has  also  published  editions  of  many 
celebrated  works  ;  among  others,  a  Life  of  Sophocles,  by  Lessing  ; 
and  he  has  actively  co-operated  in  the  management  of  various  jour- 
nals. 

FARRAT,  (L.)  Known  as  the  author  of  the  cabalistic  work,  enti- 
tled Aurea  Catena  Horneri,id  est,  Concatenata  naturœ  historiaphysico- 
chymica,latinee  civitati  donata,  which  was  published  inl2mo.  at  Frank- 
fort, in  1763.  This  work  is  still  much  esteemed  by  persons  who 
have  a  taste  for  mystical  and  alchymical  speculations. 

GARVE,  (Christian,)  was  born  at  Breslau  on  the  7th  of  January, 
1742.  He  holds  a  distinguished  rank  among  the  philosophers  and 
writers  of  Germany  for  the  virtues  which  adorned  his  character,  as 
well  as  for  his  literary  talent.  His  bad  health  forced  him  to  relin- 
quish the  study  of  theology,  for  which  he  was  at  first  destined,  and 
at  a  subsequent  period  (in  the  year  1772)  compelled  him  also  to  re- 
nounce the  functions  of  Professor  of  philosophy  at  the  University 
of  Leipsic.  He  retired  to  bis  native  city,  where  he  lived  with  his 
mother,  to  whom  he  was  fondly  attached  ;  and  he  fixed  his  residence 
permanently  in  Breslau,  with  the  exception  of  occasional  excursions 
to  the  country,  which  were  no  less  gratifying  to  his  taste  than  bene- 
ficial to  his  health.  Garve  was  the  friend  of  Gellert,  Weisse,  and 
many  other  celebrated  men.  He  died  at  Breslau  on  the  7th  of  De- 
cember, 1798,  in  his  fifty-sixth  year,  having,  as  Madame  de  Staël 
observes,  presented  an  admirable  example  of  patience  and  resignation 
during  the  sufferings  produced  by  a  protracted  and  painful  disorder. 

Notwithstanding  his  physical  infirmities,  Garve  diligently  prose- 
cuted the  study  of  literature.  He  was  distinguished  among  the 
writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as  an  author,  a  translator,  and  a 
critic  ;  and  following  the  example  of  the  most  celebrated  literary 
characters  of  Germany,  he  actively  contributed  his  exertions  in  the 
management  of  various  periodical  publications.  Garve's  philosophy 
is  wholly  practical.  As  an  enlightened  moralist,  a  shrewd,  candid, 
and  judicious  observer  of  human  nature,  he  justly  merits  the  high 
reputation  he  enjoys.  Kant  said  of  him,  that  he  was  a  philosopher 
in  the  real  acceptation  of  the  term.    He  is  not  distinguished  for  ori- 


312 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


ginality,  profoundness  of  ideas,  boldness  of  speculation,  or  fertility 
of  imagination  ;  but  he  possesses  a  vast  fund  of  experience,  his  ideas 
are  sound  and  judicious,  his  style  is  pure,  correct,  and  elegant,  and 
his  works  breathe  the  purest  spirit  of  virtue  and  reason. 

Garve's  most  esteemed  production  is  a  collection  of  essays  in  five 
volumes,  On  various  Points  of  Morality,  Literature,  and  Practical 
Philosophy.  These  essays  contain  his  treatise  on  Society  and  Solitude, 
which  had  previously  been  published  separately  in  two  volumes  ; 
and  the  chapter  on  the  Solitude  of  the  Invalid,  which  he  dictated 
with  extraordinary  firmness  shortly  before  his  death.  They  also 
include  the  Treatise  on  Patience,  spoken  of  by  Madame  de  Staël. 
Garve's  Considerations  on  the  Principles  of  Morality  also  enjoy  a  high 
reputation.  His  essays  on  the  character  of  Zollikoffer,  on  the  life 
of  his  friend  Paozensky,  on  the  character  and  the  government  of  Fre- 
derick the  Great,  and  his  correspondence  with  Weisse,  Zollikoffer, 
and  various  other  writers,  abound  with  interest.  Of  his  numerous 
translations,  those  which  have  attained  the  highest  celebrity  are,  1st, 
Cicero's  Treatise  on  the  Duties  of  Man,  which  was  undertaken  on  the 
invitation  of  Frederick  the  Great,  and  to  which  the  translator  has 
added  remarks,  and  a  dissertation  On  the  Union  of  Morality  and  Po- 
litics ;  2d,  Aristotle's  Politics,  the  translation  of  which  was  completed 
and  published  after  Garve's  death  by  Fulleborn  ;  3d,  Adam  Smith's 
celebrated  work  on  the  Wealth  of  Nations.  His  last  translation  was 
the  guide  to  the  study  of  political  economy  in  Germany,  before  the 
publication  of  Lueder's  work  on  the  same  subject,  which  is  written 
on  the  plan  of  Smith  and  Stewart. 

GEBLER, (Tobias  Philip  Baron  Von,)  was  born  on  the  2d  of  No- 
vember, 1726,  at  Zeulenroda,  a  little  town  of  Voigtland.  Like  Ca- 
nitz  and  Drollinger,  he  devoted  himself  to  business,  and  he  occupied 
honourable  posts  in  the  service  of  the  Austrian  Monarch.  He  died 
on  the  9th  of  October,  1786,  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age. 

Gebler's  amiable  qualities  endeared  him  to  his  fellow-citizens.  He 
was  ever  ready  to  participate  in  any  useful  plan,  and  to  promote  any 
patriotic  view.  Literature,  political  economy,  and  public  education 
in  Austria,  are  materially  indebted  to  his  exertions.  He  devoted  his 
leisure  hours  to  the  improvement  of  the  national  drama.  His  dra- 
matic works,  which  are  published  in  three  volumes,  were  almost  all 
performed  with  success,  between  the  years  1770  and  1775,  in  Vienna 
and  in  other  parts  of  Germany.  The  Minister  and  Clementine,  which 
are  mentioned  by  Goethe,  and  which  are  very  much  admired,  are  in 
the  melo-dramatic  style.  His  Adelaide  Von  Siegmar  is  accounted 
one  of  the  best  tragedies  in  the  German  language. 

Gebler  was  not  gifted  with  the  genuine  comic  vein  ;  but  he  pos- 
sessed the  art  of  interesting  and  rousing  the  feelings.  He  painted, 
with  considerable  talent,  characters  borrowed  from  the  higher  and 
middling  ranks  of  society.  His  sentiments  were  elevated  ;  and  he 
always  excelled  in  giving  to  his  characters  the  language  of  friendship, 
generosity,  and  heroism.  His  dramas,  which  are  always  distinguish- 
ed for  morality,  and  a  tone  of  refinement,  frequently  present  picture? 
which  are  not  wanting  in  truth. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES 


GELLERT,  (Christian  Furchtegott,)  was  born  on  the  4th  of  July, 
1715,  at  Haynichen,  a  little  town  near  Freiberg  in  Saxony,  where 
his  father  was  assistant  preacher.  His  parents'  indifferent  circum- 
stances, and  the  numerous  family  with  which  they  were  burthened, 
compelled  Gellert,  when  only  eleven  years  of  age,  to  earn  a  liveli- 
hood by  copying  commercial  letters,  law  documents,  &c.  ;  yet  even 
in  his  childhood  he  gave  proofs  of  taste  and  talent  for  poetry.  Hav- 
ing completed  his  first  course  of  education  in  a  public  school  at  Meis- 
sen, he  repaired  to  Leipsic  to  pursue  a  course  of  theology  ;  but  his 
extreme  timidity  induced  him  to  renounce  all  thoughts  of  ascending  the 
pulpit, and  speaking  in  public.  He  undertook  for  a  short  time  to  super- 
intend the  education  of  two  young  gentlemen  near  Dresden  ;  and  he 
afterwards  accompanied  his  nephew  to  Leipsic,  in  order  to  direct 
his  studies  at  the  university.  Here  he  supported  himself  by  giving 
private  instruction  to  several  of  the  students.  Eager  to  contribute  to 
the  improvement  of  taste  and  morals  in  Germany,  he  published  suc- 
cessively collections  of  fables,  tales,  comedies,  and  a  romance  entitled 
the  Swedish  Countess  Von  G— — .  All  these  works,  which  had  sound 
morality  for  their  basis  and  their  object,  were  crowned  with  univer- 
sal approbation.  The  romance  was  looked  upon  as  the  first  success- 
ful production  of  a  German  author  in  the  class  to  which  it  belonged. 
He  next  published  a  dissertation  on  epistolary  style,  accompanied  by 
a  collection  of  his  letters,  which  was  followed  by  his  hymns  and 
sacred  odes.  These  compositions  were  received  with  no  less  enthusi- 
asm than  his  previous  productions.  Gellert  was  the  intimate  friend 
of  Elias  Schlegel,  the  founder  of  tragedy  in  Germany  ;  of  John 
Adolphus  Schlegel,  the  brother  of  the  dramatic  poet;  and  of  Rabener 
and  Weisse.  His  intercourse  with  these  distinguished  individuals 
often  proved  of  the  highest  advantage  to  him.  His  health,  which  was 
still  in  a  delicate  state,  his  melancholy  disposition,  and  his  diffidence., 
induced  him  to  relinquish  academic  instruction.  But  the  court  of 
Saxony,  mindful  of  his  merit,  wished  him  to  offer  himself  as  a  candi- 
date for  the  chair  of  philosophy  .  This  he  did,  on  the  persuasion  of 
his  friends,  and  he  was  appointed  extraordinary  professor.  His 
course  of  lectures  on  poetry  and  rhetoric,  and  his  subsequent  course 
on  morality,  attracted  crowds  of  hearers  of  all  ranks  and  professions. 
These  exertions  served  only  to  increase  his  ill  health  ;  and  often,  in 
spite  of  himself,  his  melancholy  degenerated  into  gloom  and  dejec- 
tion. However,  his  sufferings  never  rendered  him  a  burthen  to  his 
friends,  towards  whom  he  constantly  maintained  his  gentleness  and 
equanimity  of  temper. 

Gellert  was  a  favourite  of  the  celebrated  Prince  Henry  of  Prussia, 
the  brother  of  Frederick  the  Great  ;  and  he  was  highly  esteemed  by 
Frederick  himself,  against  whom  he  boldly  took  up  the  defence  of  the 
national  literature.  To  enable  Gellert  to  enjoy  the  exercise  of  riding 
on  horseback  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  Prince  Henry  made  him 
a  present  of  the  horse  which  he  rode  at  the  battle  of  Freiberg;  and 
when  this  favourite  animal  died,  the  Elector  of  Saxony  supplied  its 
place  by  another  horse  chosen  from  his  own  stud.  Many  persons  of 
the  highest  rank  took  a  pleasure  in  augmenting,  by  presents  and 
pensions,  the  scanty  income  of  the  professor,  who  was  ever  ready  to 
share  what  he  possessed  with  the  unfortunate.    His  wants  were  very 


au 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES 


limited,for  be  bad  throughout  bis  whole  life  accustomed  himself  to  sub- 
sistonlittle.  He  joyfully  beheld  the  approachingtermination  of  his  long 
snfferings,andhe  expired  on  the  13th  of  Dec.l769,inhis  fifty -fifth year, 
His  death  was  a  subject  of  universal  regret.  Few  men  exercised  so 
great  an  influence  during  their  lives,  or  were  so  sincerely  praised  and 
lamented  after  their  death.  Over  his  grave,  in  St.  John's  church  in 
Leipsic,  an  alabaster  monument  is  erected,  representing  Religion  and 
Virtue  crowned  with  laurel.  Religion  presents  to  the  spectator  the 
portrait  of  Gellert  in  bronze.  The  bookseller  Wendler,  who  had 
derived  considerable  emolument  from  the  sale  of  Gellert's  fables, 
erected  in  his  garden  an  elegant  marble  monument  to  the  memory  of 
the  celebrated  professor.  This  example  was  followed  by  another 
bookseller  named  Reich.  Another  monument  to  Gellert  was  erected 
by  Sulzer,  on  his  estate  near  Leipsic  ;  and  a  similar  tribute  of  respect 
to  his  memory,  was  paid  by  Field-marsh-  !  Laudon.  The  marshal's 
ashes  also  repose  beneath  a  modest  tomb  on  his  estate  of  Hadersdorf, 
near  Gellert's  sarcophagus. 

Gellert's  virtues,  and  the  signal  services  he  rendered  to  morality 
and  literature,  well  justified  the  regret  testified  for  his  loss,  and  the 
honours  paid  to  his  memory.  He  was  not  a  man  of  genius  or  pro- 
found learning  ;  but  his  virtue  and  piety,  his  zealous  efforts  for  the 
advancement  of  morality  and  education,  his  pure  taste  and  excellent 
understanding,  united  to  a  truly  feeling  heart,  exercised  the  most 
powerful  ascendency  over  his  countrymen,  and  imparted  the  highest 
interest  to  his  writings.  He  may,  perhaps,  with  propriety  be  ranked 
in  a  scale  below  Fenelon,  and  on  a  level  with  Rollin.  He  was  equal 
in  virtue  to  these  two  distinguished  men  ;  and  if  he  was  not  endow- 
ed with  the  brilliant  imagination  and  exquisite  talent  of  the  former,  he 
possessed  more  true  philosophy  and  greater  shrewdness  of  judgment, 
than  the  latter.  His  pen  is  almost  always  elegant,  correct,  and  pure. 
His  fables  and  tales  are  extremely  popular.  His  sacred  poems., 
which  are  distinguished  for  the  purest  piety  and  feeling,  are  consi- 
dered his  best  productions.  If  his  dramas  and  his  romance  are  enti- 
tled only  to  a  secondary  rank,  they  nevertheless  possess  solid  merit; 
and  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  they  were  the  first  German  compo- 
sitions in  the  particular  classes  to  which  they  belong.  His  letters 
and  his  moral  lectures,  which  are  strongly  imbued  with  the  purity  of 
mind,  and  the  practical  judgment  of  the  author,  attract  the  interest 
of  the  reader,  while  they  convey  useful  lessons  and  advice.  The 
sound  judgment  and  pure  morality  for  which  the  writings  of  Gellert 
are  so  highly  distinguished,  gained  him  the  confidence  of  his  coun- 
trymen, and  of  foreigners  of  all  ranks  and  conditions.  He  was  con- 
tinually consulted  on  questions  of  education,  and  appealed  to  in  every 
circumstance  of  life.  Elizabeth,  the  consort  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
a  queen  respected  for  her  virtues,  at  once  conferred  a  high  honour 
on  Gellert  and  herself  by  executing  a  French  translation  of  his  sacred 
poems  and  moral  lectures.  This  translation  was  published  at  Berlin 
in  1789.  The  lectures  had  been  previously  translated  into  French 
by  Pajon,  and  were  published  at  Utrecht  and  Leipsic  in  1772. 

There  are  three  different  French  translations  oi  Gellert's  fables, 
his  tales,  and  his  romance  of  the  Swedish  Countess.  The  transla- 
tion of  hi?  letters  by  Huber.  and  Madame  de  la  Fite.  was  published 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOVICES. 


at  Utrecht  in  1775.  His  comedies,  entitled  The  False  Devotee,  The 
Affectionate  Sisters,  The  Prize  in  the  Lottery,  kc.  have  also  appeared 
in  French. 

Several  distinguished  German  writers, — among  others,  Weisse, 
Garve,  and  Cramer, — have  published  accounts  of  the  life  of  Gellert, 
with  remarks  on  his  works. 

GEMMINGEN,  (Otho  Henry  Baron  Von,)  Chamberlain  to  the 
Elector  Palatine,  and  Member  of  the  Academic  Society  of  Manheim. 
He  lived  privately  at  Vienna  from  the  year  1784  to  1797,  when  he 
removed  to  Wurtzburgh.  He  was  a  successful  dramatist,  and  the 
author  of  rfhe  Father  of  a  Family,  which  appeared  in  1780,  and  is 
accounted  one  of  the  best  dramas  in  the  German  language.  He  is 
also  the  author  of  a  comedy  entitled  The  Inheritance,  published  at 
Manheim  in  1779;  a  translation  of  Shakspeare's  Richard  IL;  of 
Rousseau's  Pygmalion,  &c.  ;  and  also  of  Literary  and  Philosophic 
Miscellanies,  published  at  Vienna,  1785-86. 

Another  writer  of  the  same  name  (Eberhard  Frederick  Baron  Von 
Gemmingen,)  was  born  on  the  5th  of  November,  1726,  at  Heilbron 
on  the  Neckar  ;  and  died  on  the  19th  of  January,  1791.  He  was 
one  of  those  poets  who  proved  themselves  the  successful  competitors 
of  Gellert,  Kleist,  Zacharia,  &c.  Poetry  was,  however,  merely  the 
occupation  of  his  leisure  hours.  He  published  songs,  odes,  fables, 
elegies,  Lc.  His  elegies  and  moral  poems  are  considered  to  be  his 
best  productions.  The  praise  of  pastoral  life,  nature  and  the  Deity, 
philosophy,  friendship,  and  humanity,  are  the  favourite  themes  of  his 
muse. 

GERSTENBERG, (Henry  William,)  was  born  on  the  3d  of  January, 
1737,  at  Toudern,  in  the  dutchy  of  Sleswick.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  Gerstenberg  was  gifted  with  original,  energetic,  and  profound 
genius  ;  but  he  wanted  the  assistance  of  cultivated  talent  and  refined 
taste,  and  his  writings  are  often  disfigured  by  serious  faults.  Perhaps 
we  may  attribute,  at  least  in  a  great  degree,  the  negligence  and  de- 
fects observable  in  the  works  of  Gerstenberg,  to  the  heterogeneous 
occupations  which  absorbed  the  attention  of  this  author  during  the 
many  years  in  which  he  devoted  himself,  first  to  the  military  profes- 
sion, and  afterward  to  civil  duties.  He  first  served  as  an  officer  of 
cavalry  in  the  war  between  Denmark  and  Russia  in  1763  ;  and  he 
then  published,  in  imitation  of  Gleim,  his  war  songs  of  a  Danish 
grenadier.  He  quitted  the  army  on  the  retirement  of  his  patron 
the  Count  of  Saint  Germain,  and  obtained  a  high  post  in  the  War 
Department.  In  1775  he  was  appointed  Danish  Resident  and  Con- 
sul atLubeck  :  and  in  17S3  he  became  one  of  the  Directors  of  the 
Ptoyal  Lottery  of  Altona.  During  his  residence  in  Copenhagen  he 
contracted  an  intimate  friendship  with  many  celebrated  German  wri- 
ters. The  taste  for  literature  cherished  by  king  Frederick  V.  and 
the  favour  shown  to  German  literature  in  particular  by  his  minister 
Bernstorff,  attracted  many  distinguished  men  to  Denmark.  Among 
the  number  was  J.  A.  Cramer,  whose  talents  as  a  Christian  preacher 
reflected  honour  on  his  country  ;  Resewitz,  the  pupil  of  Cramer  :  E. 
Scbjegel,  Klopstock,  and  Sturz.  who  lived  near  the  minister;  and  • 


31 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES 


Basedow,  who  resided  at  Soroe.    Weisse  was  also  the  friend  of 
Gerstenberg,  and  Gellert  cherished  the  greatest  esteem  for  him. 

Gerstenberg  early  acquired  a  high  reputation  as  a  lyric  poet,  a  dra- 
matist, and  a  critic.    His  collection  of  Prosaic  Poems,  published  at 
Altonain  1759,  are  written  in  flowing  and  harmonious  language,  and 
abound  with  traits  of  nature  and  keen  irony.    The  best  of  these 
poems,  that  entitled  the  Isle  of  Cyprus,  breathes  a  spirit  of  lyric  en- 
thusiasm.   His  lyric  and  Anacreontic  poems,  published  in  1765,  are 
characterized  by  grace  and  elegance,  and  well  deserved  the  brilliant 
success  they  obtained.    His  Poem  of  a  Scald,  an  attempt  wholly  new 
in  Germany,  appeared  in  1766.    It  is  regarded  as  a  happy  applica- 
tion of  the  Scandinavian  mythology  to  the  lyre  of  the  Germanic 
Muse,  and  is  esteemed  a  model  in  the  class  to  which  it  belongs. 
Gerstenberg  was  no  less  bold  and  original  in  his  dramatic  composi- 
tions.   The  Bride,  a  tragedy  imitated  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
which  was  published  in  1765,  and  his  Ugolino,  which  appeared  in 
1768,  were  compositions  in  a  style  wholly  new  to  his  countrymen  ; 
they  opened  the  course  which  has  since  been  so  gloriously  pursued 
by  Goethe  and  Schiller.    Though  it  is  admitted  in  Germany  that 
Gerstenberg's  Ugolino,  as  well  as  his  Minona,  or  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
are  not  calculated  to  excite  interest  in  representation  ;  yet  the  per- 
formance of  Ugolino  has  nevertheless  been  tried  at  Berlin.  Though 
in  this  drama  the  fearful  frequently  degenerates  into  the  horrible, 
yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  exhibits  scenes  of  the  most  touching 
pathos,  characters  not  inferior  to  those  drawn  by  the  masterly  hand 
of  Shakspeare,  and  descriptive  passages  not  unworthy  the  pencil  of 
iEschylus. 

The  works  in  which  Gerstenberg's  literary  knowledge  and  talent 
for  criticism  are  most  fully  developed,  are  :  1st,  The  Hypochondriac, 
2  vols,  reprinted  in  1772  ;  2d,  his  Letters  on  Important  Points  of  Lite- 
rature,  4  vols,  published  in  1766,  1767,  and  1770. 

At  an  advanced  period  of  his  life  Gerstenberg  applied  himself  to 
the  study  of  philosophy,  and  particularly  to  the  doctrine  of  Kant. 
He  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  Categories,  which  was  printed  at  Altona 
in  1795. 

GESSNER, (Salomon,)  was  born  at  Zurich  on  the  1st  of  April, 1730, 
and  died  on  the  second  of  March,  1787.  This  distinguished  poet  is 
perhaps  less  esteemed  by  his  own  countrymen  than  by  foreigners. 
The  Germans  reproach  him  for  his  employment  of  Swiss  phrases 
and  turns  of  expression.  The  ardent  admirers  of  Goethe  consider 
the  sensibility  of  Gessner  to  be  mere  puerility  :  they  accuse  him  of 
want  of  energy  ;  and  of  having  in  his  pastoral  poems,  painted  the 
manners  of  Hebrew  shepherds.  Historical  fidelity,  and  the  correct 
delineation  of  local  and  national  manners,  are  doubtless  qualities  of 
the  highest  importance  ;  but  are  they  the  essential  requisites  of 
poetic  beauty  ?  Gessner  painted  the  manners  of  the  primitive  ages 
of  the  world — the  manners  of  the  golden  age.  He  has  expressed 
with  true  poetic  feeling,  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the  charms  of 
sentiment  and  virtue.  He  varies  ad  infinitum  the  colours  and  shades 
of  his  pictures,  and  imparts  to  them  the  loveliest  and  tenderest  inte- 
rest.   He  appeals  to  the  imaginations  and  the  hearts  of  all  :  and  he 


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317 


is  always  fall  of  elegance  and  grace.  The  emotions  he  excites  are 
suited  to  all  times  and  all  places.  Gess»3er's  writings  will  be  read 
and  admired,  when  works  characterized  by  a  more  vivid,  and  more 
local  tone  of  colouring,  shall  have  sunk  into  oblivion.  The  art  of  de- 
scribing with  irresistible  charms  the  ideal  world  which  he  himself 
created,  was  the  original  and  peculiar  talent  of  Gessner  ;  for  in  this 
respect  all  who  have  attempted  to  imitate  his  magical  pencil  have 
remained  far  behind  him.  He  united  in  an  eminent  degree  the  talents 
of  a  poet  and  a  painter.  It  has  been  justly  observed  that  his  poems 
are  impressed  with  the  genius  of  the  painter,  and  his  paintings  with 
that  of  the  poet. 

Gessner's  principal  works  are  so  well  known,  that  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  enumerate  them  here.  A  Life  of  this  distinguished  writer, 
by  Hottinger,  was  published  at  Zurich  in  1796.  Interesting  details 
of  him  will  also  be  found  in  Leonard  Meister's  Celebrated  Natives  of 
Zurich  ;  in  the  Elo%io  di  Gesnero  deW  Abbate  Georgia  Bertolo.  ;  and 
in  Joertien's  Lexicon  of  Gem  an  Potts  and  Prose  Writers.  The  se- 
cond volume  of  Herder's  Miscellanies  of  Polite  Literature  and  Art 
likewise  contains  an  excellent  fragment  un  Gessner,  in  which  the 
merits  of  the  poet  of  Zurich  are  duly  appreciated. 

GLELM,  (John  William  Ludwig,)  was  born  on  the  2d  of  April,  1719, 
at  Ermsleben,  in  the, territory  of  Halberstadt  ;  and  died  at  Halber- 
stadt,  on  the  18th  of  February,  1803.  This  celebrated  German  poet 
was,  for  the  space  of  fifty  years,  secretary  to  the  chapter  of  the  ca- 
thedral at  Halberstadt.  He  is  the  author  of  fables,  romances,  comic 
songs,  Anacreontic  poems,  &c;  but  he  is  above  all  celebrated  for  his 
War  Songs  of  a  Prussian  Grenadier  during  the  Seven  Years^  War. 
His  poems  entitled  Halladat,  or  the  Red  Book,  and  The  Best  of  Worlds, 
are  also  highly  esteemed.  Gleim  was  the  friend  of  the  historian 
John  Miiller,  and  some  letters  from  him  to  Muller  are  printed  in 
French  at  the  end  of  the  translation  of  Midler's  Letters  to  Bonstet- 
ten,  (Zurich,  1810.)  The  most  complete  edition  of  Gleim's  works 
was  published  at  Halberstadt,  in  seven  volumes  8vo.  1811 — 1813,  by 
his  grand-nephew  William  Korte. 

GOETZ,  (John  Nicolas,)  was  born  at  Worms  on  the  7th  of  July, 
1721  ;  and  died  on  the  4th  of  November,  1781.  He  was  the  friend 
and  competitor  of  Utz  and  Gleim.  His  life  was  devoted  to  the  duties 
of  a  teacher  and  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  He  resided  for  a  consi- 
derable time  in  France,  and  in  the  year  1766  was  appointed  superin- 
tendent of  the  Lutheran  church  at  Winterburgh,  in  the  margravate 
of  Baden  Durlach. 

With  the  exception  of  some  fables,  the  immature  effusions  of  the 
author's  youthful  genius,  the  writings  of  Goetz  may  be  ranked  among 
the  most  pleasing  poetic  productions  of  Germany.  His  comic  and 
sentimental  songs  are  highly  esteemed  ;  and  he  also  succeeded  well 
in  the  composition  of  odes,  tales,  epigrams,  idyls,  and  elegies.  His 
Isle  of  Maidens  is  accounted  a  model  in  elegiac  composition  ;  it  re- 
conciled Frederick  the  Great  to  German  literature.  His  Poem  On 
Pleasure  is  also  a  happy  inspiration  in  the  didactic  and  moral  style. 
The  poetry  of  Goe'tz  is  characterized  by  fertility  of  imagination,  na- 


316 


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tural  feeling,  gayety,  versatility,  delicate  sensibility,  and  a  harmonious 
style  of  versification.  His  miscellaneous  poems  were  published  by 
Ramier,  in  3  volumes,  at  Manheim,  in  1785.  It  has  by  some  been 
apprehended,  that  the  celebrated  editor,  in  correcting  the  works  of 
Goëtz,  which  he  was  especially  authorized  to  do  by  the  poet  himself, 
has  occasionally  deviated  so  far  from  the  originals,  as  to  render  it 
difficult  to  ascertain  their  real  merit.  But  there  is  little  doubt  that 
Ramier  has  confined  himself  to  slight  alterations  ;  and  besides,  some 
of  the  best  poems  of  Goëtz  were  published  in  previous  editions. 

Goëtz,  conjointly  with  Utz,  executed  a  translation  of  Anacreon's 
Poems. 

GOTTER,  (Frederick  William,)  was  born  at  Gotha  on  the  3d  of 
September,  1746  ;  and  died  on  the  18th  of  March,  1797,  at  the  age 
of  fifty-one.  Though  his  life  was  almost  wholly  divided  between 
business  and  literature,  yet  he  also  found  leisure  to  cultivate  the  arts. 
His  knowledge  both  of  ancient  and  modern  literature  was  very 
extensive  ;  and  he  was  equally  familiar  with  the  French,  English, 
and  Italian  languages. 

His  residence  at  Gottingen,  during  two  different  intervals,  intro- 
duced him  to  an  acquaintance  with  the  distinguished  men  who  then 
shed  a  lustre  upon  that  city  ;  among  others,  with  Heyne  and  Kœstner. 
Conjointly  with  his  friend  Boie,  he  established  at  Gottingen  TheGer- 
man  Almanac  of  the  Muses,  which  was  first  published  in  1770.  A 
two  years'  residence  at  Wetzlar,  from  1770  to  1772,  as  secretary  of 
legation  to  Baron  Von  Gemmingen,  contributed  materially  to  his 
improvement  :  he  here  became  acquainted  with  Goëthe  and  young 
Jerusalem,  who  subsequently  became  so  unfortunately  celebrated, 
and  served  as  the  model  for  Werther.  Goëthe,  Jerusalem,  and  Gotter, 
vied  with  each  other  in  their  zeal  for  poetry,  the  drama,  and  the 
advancement  of  German  literature.  Gotter,  who  was  passionately 
fond  of  the  dramatic  art,  established  private  theatres,  in  which  he 
developed  great  talent  as  an  actor.  To  this  talent  he  united,  in  an 
eminent  degree,  that  of  extempore  composition.  He  shared  the 
desire  ardently  cherished  by  his  young  friends,  of  founding  the  lite- 
rary glory  of  Germany  on  original  German  productions.  He  was  not 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  nature,  truth,  energy,  and  enthusiasm  in 
dramatic  composition  ;  but  his  taste  led  him  to  prefer  the  classical  to 
the  romantic  style.  He  considered  the  dramas  and  the  dramatic  system 
of  the  French  to  be  more  regular  and  more  conformable  with  the  rules 
of  art,  than  the  productions  of  the  English  and  the  Spanish  stage.  In 
this  predilection,  Gotter  differed  from  all  the  celebrated  German 
poets,  his  contemporaries.  He  translated  many  French  tragedies  and 
comedies  ;  in  particular,  some  of  Voltaire's  best  dramatic  works.  His 
translation  of  Alzire  is  regarded  as  a  model  in  point  of  style.  Gotter 
has,  however,  conferred  the  same  honour  on  several  F rench  dramas, 
which  were  very  little  deserving  of  it.  His  tragedy  of  Mariane, 
imitated  from  La  Harpe's  JVIélariie,  obtained  great  success.  A  cele- 
brated German  critic,  Merkel,  in  his  Letters  to  a  Lady  on  the  Re- 
markable Productions  of  Literature,  judges  this  work,  and  the  dra- 
matic talent  of  its  author,  with  a  degree  of  severity  that  must  cer- 
tainly be  considered  as  unjust.    Gotter,  he  says,  was  not  gifted  with 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


319 


a  truly  poetic  mind  ;  and  he  denies  his  claim  to  the  title  of  poet,  in 
the  more  elevated  acceptation  of  the  term.  He  was,  he  admits,  a 
man  of  a  singularly  intelligent  and  shrewd  mind,  possessed  of  culti- 
vated taste,  and  high  talent  for  versification.  He  was  a  pleasing  wri- 
ter of  poetry  ;  but  he  wanted  the  energy  of  passion,  the  warmth  and 
fertility  of  imagination,  that  would  entitle  him  to  rank  among  great 
poets.  If,  adds  Merkel,  he  had  combined  these  qualities,  even  in  an 
inferior  degree,  to  those  which  he  possessed,  he  would,  without 
doubt,  have  been  a  distinguished  poet  ;  but  he  wanted  these  requisites, 
and  therefore  he  must  be  ranked  in  the  class  of  those  writers  who 
will  always  be  read  with  pleasure,  but  whose  names  will  never  be 
pronounced  with  admiration  and  enthusiasm. 

Gotter  is  the  author  of  a  favourite  melodrama,  entitled  Medea, 
which  was  translated  into  French  by  Berquin  in  1781.  He  also 
brought  out  on  the  German  stage  several  operas,  chiefly  taken  from 
French  comic  operas. 

Gotter's  best  productions  are  his  miscellaneous  poems,  songs,  ro- 
mances, tales,  epigrams,  and  particularly  his  elegies  and  epistles. 
His  imitation  of  Gray's  Elegy,  which  Goethe  pronounced  to  be  su- 
perior to  the  imitation  which  he  had  himself  made,  is  certainly  an 
exquisite  production. 

Gotter  has  particularly  distinguished  himself  in  the  epistolary  style 
of  poetry.  Hs  poem  On  Powerful  Minds,  which  he  wrote  just  after 
the  death  of  his  friend  Jerusalem,  is  considered  a  masterpiece.  His 
contemporaries  were  gratified  to  see  a  young  poet  thus  openly  pro- 
fess attachment  to  religion  and  virtue. 

Lofty  sentiment,  sound  philosophy,  elegant  and  refined  taste,  deli- 
cate sensibility,  graceful  diction,  harmonious  versification,  are  quali- 
ties which  will  ensure  lasting  success  to  the  compositions  of  Gotter. 

GOTTSCHED,  (John  Christopher,)  a  native  of  Juditenkerch,' 
near  Kcenigsberg  in  Prussia.  He  was  born  on  the  second  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1700  ;  and  died  on  the  12th  of  December,  1766.  In  the 
year  1730  he  was  elected  professor  of  philosophy  and  poetry  at  the 
University  of  Leipsic  ;  and  in  1734  he  was  created  professor  of 
logic  and  metaphysics  at  the  same  University.  At  an  early  period  of 
his  life  he  became  interested  in  the  reform  of  German  literature. 
He  wrote  a  German  grammar,  and  some  theories  of  polite  literature 
and  the  arts,  with  the  view  of  purifying  the  national  language,  and 
guiding  the  taste  of  his  contemporaries  according  to  the  rules  laid 
down  by  the  ancients  and  the  best  French  writers.  His  Grammar, 
his  Critical  Treatises  on  Poetry  and  Rhetoric,  his  Dictionary  of  the 
Fine  Arts,  his  History  of  the  Dramatic  Art  in  Germany,  &c,  in  spite 
of  serious  imperfections,  proved  highly  useful  to  his  contemporaries, 
and  rendered  signal  services  to  German  literature. 

Gottsched  was,  indeed,  merely  a  diligent  compiler  :  he  possessed 
more  enthusiasm  than  taste,  and  his  pedantic  zeal  wanted  knowledge 
to  direct  it  rightly.  He  materially  contributed  to  defend  his  coun- 
trymen against  the  pernicious  influence  of  bombastic  and  affected 
writers,  such  as  Hoffmanswaldau  and  Lohenstein.  He  divested  the 
German  language  of  an  absurd  amalgamation  of  foreign  idioms.  He 
introduced  the  taste  for  a  more  correct  and  regular  style  than  had 


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BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES- 


hitherto  prevailed  in  the  literature  of  his  country,  and  he  pointed 
out  to  German  writers  the  course  they  ought  to  pursue.  But  the 
disciples  soon  surpassed  the  master,  and  discovered  the  insufficiency 
of  his  lessons,  and  particularly  of  his  examples. 

Misled  by  blind  vanity,  Gottsched  fell  into  the  two-fold  error  of 
wishing  to  continue  the  Mentor  and  the  oracle  of  German  literature, 
and  of  setting  up  as  models,  poetic  compositions  of  indifferent  merit  ; 
such,  for  example,  as  The  Death  of  Cato.  Bodmer  and  Breitinger, 
men  who  possessed  far  more  intelligence  and  information  than  Gotts- 
ched, were  merciless  censors  and  formidable  opponents  of  his  des- 
potic pedantry.  His  reputation,  which  was  at  first  gigantic,  soon  sunk 
beneath  his  merits  ;  and  like  many  other  writers,  he  suffered  the 
misfortune  of  surviving  his  fame. 

Gottsched  produced  a  vast  number  of  translations  and  voluminous 
compilations.  His  principal  writings  are,  A  Critical  Treatise  on 
Poetry,  8vo.  Leipsic,  1730  and  1751.  This  treatise  was,  however, 
eclipsed  by  Breitinger's  Art  of  Poetry,  which  appeared  in  1740. — A 
Treatise  on  Academic  Eloquence,  for  the  Use  of  Public  Schools,  2  vols. 
8vo.  Hanover,  1723  and  1759. — A  German  Grammar,  Leipsic,  1748. 
— A  translation  from  the  old  poem,  entitled,  Reinecke  der  Fuchs 
(Raynard  the  Fox,)  from  the  text  of  Henry  Von  Alckraar,  who  was 
long  regarded  in  Germany  as  the  real  author,  but  who,  it  would  ap- 
pear, merely  translated  it  (in  the  year  1498)  from  the  Italian  and 
French  into  the  low  Saxon.  Goethe's  free  translation  of  Reinecke 
der  Fuchs  has  superseded  that  of  Gottsched.  It  is,  however,  one  of 
those  works  that  can  only  be  read  as  objects  of  curiosity. 

Gottsched  married  Louisa  AdelgundaVictoriaKulmus,  the  daughter 
of  a  physician  of  Dantzick,  where  she  was  born  on  the  11th  of 
April,  1713.  She  possessed  infinitely  more  talent  and  taste  than  her 
husband.  Her  virtues  and  intellectual  attainments  entitle  her  to  a 
rank  among  the  most  celebrated  of  her  sex.  A  playful  and  poignant 
vein  of  humour  would  have  distinguished  her  in  satirical  poetry,  had 
she  chosen  to  devote  herself  to  that  class  of  composition.  '  Some  of 
her  works  possess  the  highest  merit  ;  but  that  which  has  justly  main- 
tained her  reputation  as  an  author,  is  the  collection  of  her  letters 
published  after  her  death  (which  happened  on  the  26th  of  June,  1 762,) 
by  her  friend  Madame  Von  Runkel,  in  3  vols.  8vo.  Dresden,  1771 
and  1772.  These  letters  will  always  be  perused  with  interest  ; 
genuine  sensibility,  elevated  and  correct  sentiment,  varied  and  ex- 
tensive information,  the  impress  of  solid  virtue,  and  an  easy,  elegant, 
and  graceful  style,  are  their  distinguishing  characteristics. 

GRIESBACH,(John  James,)  was  born  on  the  4th  of  January,  1745, 
at  Butzbach  in  Hesse-Darmstadt  ;  and  died  on  the  24th  of"  March, 
1812.  He  was  professor  of  theology  at  Halle  m  1773,  and  at  Jena  in 
1775.  He  was  also  a  member  of  the  ecclesiastical  council  of  the  court 
of  Saxe- Weimar,  &c.  By  his  profound  erudition  and  skilful  commenta- 
ries on  the  Scriptures,  he  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  German  the- 
ologists  who  have  most  successfully  supported  the  cause  of  revealed 
religion.  His  principal  work,  entitled,  An  Introduction  to  the  Study 
of  Popular  Dogmatics  (of  which  four  editions  were  published  be- 
tween the  years  1779  and  1789)  produced  an  important  influence  on 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE^ 


321 


the  opinions  of  his  countrymen.  Griesbach  also  published  a  Greek 
edition  of  the  New  Testament,  with  valuable  commentaries.  For  a 
further  account  of  the  life  and  writings  of  Griesbach,  see  a  notice, 
and  the  close  of  the  funeral  oration,  written  at  the  period  of  his 
death  by  M.  Koê'the  ;  and  an  excellent  necrological  article  by  M. 
Paulus  in  the  Philosophic  Annals  of  Heidelberg,  1812. 

GROSSMANN,  (Gustavus  Frederick  William,)  was  born  at  Berlin 
on  the  30th  of  November,  1746  :  and  died  at  Hanover  on  the  20th 
of  May.  1796.  He  was  celebrated  as  a  dramatic  poet  and  an  actor. 
His  father  was  a  schoolmaster,  and  his  straitened  circumstances  ren- 
dered it  difficult  for  Grossman  to  pursue  his  course  of  studies  to  a  clo«e. 
He  however  obtained  the  appointment  of  secretary  of  legation  to 
the  Prussian  resident  in  Denmark  ;  but  after  being  employed  for 
some  time,  he  was  dismissed  merely  with  thanks,  wheu  his  services 
were  no  longer  required.  He  returned  to  Berlin,  where  he  de- 
voted himself  to  the  *tudy  of  literature,  and  formed  an  acquaintance 
with  many  men  of  talent,  particularly  with  Lessing.  He  wrote  for 
the  stage  ;  and  his  connexion  with  Seyler,  the  manager  of  the  theatre 
of  Gotha,  which  town  he  visited,  induced  him  to  become  an  actor. 
He  was  very  successful  in  the  performance  of  old  men's  parts.  He 
was  successively  manager  of  the  theatres  of  Bonn,  Frankfort,  and 
Hanover.  The  warmth  with  which  he  espoused  the'  cause  of  the 
French  Revolution  gained  him  many  enemies.  During  his  perfor- 
mance of  a  farce,  of  which  he  was  himself  the  author,  he  introduced 
into  his  own  character  certain  satirical  personal  allusions,  which 
gave  offence  to  some  individuals  of  eminent  rank.  He  was  impri- 
soned for  the  space  of  six  months,  and  was  only  liberated  on  condi- 
tion of  never  again  appearing  on  the  stage.  His  health  had  previously 
been  much  impaired  by  excessive  drinking  and  want  of  natural 
rest,  for  he  usually  devoted  the  night  to  reading  ;  "but  his  imprison- 
ment and  banishment  from  the  stage  threw  him  into  a  state  of  dejection 
which  nearly  deprived  him  of  reason.    He  did  not  long  survive. 

Grossmann's  most  successful  dramatic  productions  are  Henrietta, 
or  She  is  already  Married,  and  Not  more  than  Six  Dishes.  Henrietta 
was  first  played  in  1783.  It  obtained  extraordinary  popularity,  and 
is  still  a  favourite  piece  on  the  German  stage.  The  subject  is  taken 
from  the  Nouvelle  Heloise.  The  other  piece,  Not  more  than  Six 
Dishes,  which  Goethe  treats  with  so  little  indulgence,  was  also  very 
successful.  It  is  not  destitute  of  interest,  nor  of  a  certain  degree  of 
comic  humour.  But  the  humour  is  somewhat  overcharged,  the  plot 
is  not  very  skilfully  contrived,  nor  are  the  characters  very  well  sup- 
ported. This  drama,  however,  has  been  three  time-  m -dated  into 
French,  and  has  been  performed  in  Paris  ;  it  was  also  r.  presented 
at  Bonn  in  1780.  Grossmann  brought  out  at  Berlin,  in  1772,  an  in- 
different translation  of  Lessing's  Minna. 

GUNTHER,  (John  Christian,)  was  born  on  the  8th  of  April,  1695, 
at  Striegau  in  the  Silesian  principality  of  Schweidnitz,  where  his  fa- 
ther was  a  physician.  From  his  boyhood  he  evinced  a  taste  and  ta- 
ient  for  poetry  j  and  excited  by  the  example  of  his  countrymen  Opitz, 


322 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NÔTICLS. 


he  early  tuned  his  lyre,  and  invoked  the  inspiration  of  the  Germanic 
Muse.  His  youthful  effusions,  which  were  full  of  fancy  and  enthu- 
siasm, afforded  abundant  promise  of  future  excellence  ;  but  the 
irregular  and  dissipated  habits  which  shortened  his  existence,  soon 
impaired  the  beauty  of  his  compositions.  His  brilliant  talent  shone 
only  by  fits  and  starts.  His  profligacy  and  intemperance,  which 
rendered  him  incapable  of  study,  successively  drew  down  upon  him 
the  displeasure  of  his  father  and  his  patrons.  He  spent  the  chief  part 
of  his  short  career  in  the  misery  of  an  unsettled  life,  wandering 
through  Silesia,  Saxony,  and  Poland  ;  and  depending  for  subsistence 
on  the  bounty  of  those  who  were  charmed  by  his  poetic  strains.  One 
of  his  most  zealous  patrons,  the  Saxcn  counsellor  Menke,  succeeded 
in  getting  him  appointed  poet  laureate  to  the  court  of  Dresden  ;  bat 
on  the  day  on  which  he  was  presented  to  Frederick  Augustus,  then 
elector  of  Saxony  and  king  of  Poland,  he  was  in  such  a  state  of  in- 
toxication as  to  be  incapable  of  uttering  a  word,  and  it  was  found 
necessary  to  remove  him  from  the  presence  of  the  prince.  He  died, 
the  victim  of  intemperance,  on  the  15th  of  March,  1723,  before  he 
had  completed  his  twenty-eighth  year. 

Giinther  composed  songs,  sacred  and  profane,  odes,  satires,  epi- 
grams, elegies,  &c.  His  works  exhibit  fertility  of  imagination, 
warmth  of  feeling,  admirable  facility  of  rhyming,  and  astonishing 
purity  of  style,  for  the  period  at  which  they  were  written  :  but  even 
these  beauties  are  occasionally  tarnished  by  a  mixture  of  trivial  and 
low  expressions,  which  but  too  clearly  indicate  the  moral  degradation 
of  the  author.  Some  of  Giinther's  poems  contain  affecting  details  of 
his  life  and  misfortunes.  His  best  composition  is  the  ode  he  wrote 
in  honour  of  the  peace  concluded  between  Austria  and  the  Ottoman 
Porte,  in  1718,  and  in  which  he  celebrates  the  glory  of  the  illustri- 
ous prince  Eugene  of  Savoy.  His  poetic  works  have  passed  through 
six  editions.    The  last  was  published  at  Breslau  and  Leipsic  in  1764. 

H  AGEDORN, (Frederick  Von,)  washorn  at  Hamburgh  on  the  23d 
of  April,  1708.  His  father,  who  was  descended  from  an  ancient  and 
noble  family,  was  one  of  the  king  of  Denmark's  counsellors  of  state, 
and  he  exercised  in  Hamburgh  the  functions  of  Danish  resident  for  the 
circle  of  Lower  Saxony.  After  having  long  enjoyed  the  bounty  of 
fortune,  he  experienced  serious  reverses,  and  died  in  1722,  leaving 
his  widow  and  two  sons  but  scantily  provided  for.  The  education  of 
the  two  young  men  was,  however,  carefully  attended  to  by  their 
mother.  On  quitting  the  University,  Frederick,  who  was  the  younger 
of  the  two,  visited  London,  in  quality  of  private  secretary  to  Baron 
Von  Sohlenthal,  the  Danish  envoy  ;  and  on  his  return  to  Hamburgh 
he  was  appointed  secretary  to  the  commercial  society,  called  The 
English  Court.  Being  thus  established  in  independence,  he  assidu- 
ously devoted  himself  to  the  worship  of  the  Muses  :  and  he  divided 
his  time  between  literary  occupations  and  the  pleasures  of  society. 
Many  men  of  eminent  talent  were  at  this  period  assembled  in  Ham- 
burgh :  among  others,  Carpser,  the  celebrated  surgeon,  a  man  of  wit 
and  convivial  manners  ;  Brockes,  the  competitor  of  Hagedorn  ;  Zim- 
mermann,  Wilkens,  Dr.  Lipstorp,  young  Liscow,  Zinc,  Bohn,  the 
bookseller;  Murray,  the  English  theologist  ;  and  Behrmann,  the  au- 


BÏ0GRAPHICÀL  NOTICES. 


323 


thor  of  several  tragedies.  Hagedorn  took  pleasure  in  this  society,  and 
particularly  in  the  company  of  his  friend  Carpser.  But  these  lovers 
of  gayety  neglected  the  precepts  of  Socrates,  to  follow  those  of  Epi- 
curus ;  and  the  consequences  of  a  life,  which  was  regulated  by  no 
moderation  of  enjoyment,  proved  fatal  to  the  poet.  He  became  the 
victim  of  gout  and  dropsy,  and  expired  on  the  28th  of  October,  1754, 
before  he  had  completed  his  forty-seventh  year.  He  was  found 
dead  with  a  book  in  his  hand. 

In  spite  of  this  inclination  for  Epicurism,  Hagedorn  was  universally 
beloved  for  his  virtues  and  his  excellent  disposition.  He  was  unas- 
suming and  goodnatured,  readily  applauding  the  merit  of  others,  often 
attributing  a  gratuitous  superiority  to  his  rivals,  and  ever  prompt  to 
aid,  in  any  way,  those  who  stood  in  need  of  his  assistance.  The 
conduct  of  his  whole  life  proved  him  to  be  a  most  sincere  friem]. 
His  love  of  independence  and  repose  excited  his  taste  for  the  beauties 
of  nature  and  the  charms  of  rural  life  ;  and  this  taste  was  recognisa- 
ble in  the  simplicity  of  his  manners.  His  favourite  place  of  resi- 
dence was  a  country  house  on  the  banks  of  the  Elster.  No  poet 
has  more  successfully  painted  the  happiness  and  tranquillity  of  rustic 
society  ;  and  no  poet  has  more  correctly  depicted  his  own  senti- 
ments and  tastes  in  his  writings. 

Hagedorn's  eminent  talents  were  in  perfect  unison  with  the  amia- 
ble qualities  of  his  heart.  Nature  had  endowed  him  with  the  hap- 
piest qualifications  for  poetic  composition.  His  mind  was  ever  prone 
to  receive  a  lively  impression  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful.  Though 
his  imagination  never  shone  with  energetic  lustre,  or  winged  a  bold 
flight  into  the  lofty  regions  of  art  ;  yet  fancy  sparkled  in  all  his  ideas, 
and  invested  them  with  poetic  colouring.  His  genius  and  taste  were 
cultivated  ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  form  an  accurate  notion  of  the  in- 
tellectual degradation  which  prevailed  in  Germany  during  the  life  of 
Hagedorn,  in  order  to  appreciate  the  services  he  rendered  to  his 
country.  At  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the 
talents  of  Opitz  afforded  a  happy  presage  for  German  literature,  but 
Opitz  was  a  solitary  phenomenon,  and  one  to  whom  no  equal  after- 
ward appeared.  The  close  of  the  seventeenth,  and  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  centuries,  were  marked  by  retrogression.  Bad 
taste  prevailed,  and  threatened  the  literature  of  Germany  with  com- 
plete decay.  But  Hagedorn  and  Haller  happily  appeared.  To 
these  two  distinguished  men  must  be  assigned  the  glory  of  having 
restored,  or  rather  founded  and  perfected,  the  laws  of  taste  in  their 
native  country.  It  was  necessary  to-  strike  out  a  middle  path  be- 
tween the  extravagant  bombast  of  Lohenstein  and  Hotfmanswaldau, 
and  an  insignificant  and  insipid  style  of  rhyming,  which  also  had  its 
admirers.  Hagedorn  found  excellent  guides  and  powerful  auxiliaries 
in  all  the  writers  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  whose  beauties  had 
not  hitherto  been  fully  discerned  and  appreciated  in  Germany.  To 
succeed  in  the  task  in  which  he  engaged,  required  exquisite  tact 
and  no  ordinary  share  of  judgment.  He  had  to  contend  with  new 
difficulties  and  obstacles.  The  partisans  of  Gottsched  wished  to  as- 
sume a  pedantic  and  mischievous  ascendency  over  language,  taste, 
and  poetry.  They  were,  it  is  true,  powerfully  opposed  by  the  Swiss 
school,  but  the  despotism  with  which  literature  was  threatened  by 


324 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. ' 


the  latter  was  scarcely  less  dangerous.  Hagedorn  steered  his  course 
skilfully  and  persevenngly  amidst  these  storms.  He  prided  himself 
in  not  appearing  in  the  character  of  a  professional  scholar,  hut  io 
that  of  a  zealous  amateur,  by  which  means  he  kept  fiee  of  all  dis- 
putes. He  was  more  than  a  mere  scholar  ;  his  information  was  ex- 
tensive and  various,  and  his  immense  reading  had  furnished  him  with 
an  inexhautihle  fund  of  subjects  and  ideas.  He  made  notes  of  every 
thing,  and  his  works  were  written  with  extreme  care.  Wieland  has 
justly  said  of  Hagedorn,  that  no  poet,  in  any  country,  ever  possessed 
more  delicate  taste  ;  that  his  works  are  more  finished  than  those  of 
any  other  German  writer,  and  that  few  have  equalled  him  in  assidu- 
ous application. 

His  first  literary  productions  appeared  in  1729,  six  years  after  the 
death  of  Giinther.  They  are  tainted  with  the  vices  of  the  national 
taste,  and  present  examples  of  the  imperfection,  rudeness,  and  pro- 
lixity of  expression  prevailing  at  the  period  ;  for  the  German  lan- 
guage was  not  yet  fixed  or  cultivated.  Hagedorn  found  in  his  own 
country  neither  models  nor  judges.  He  was  obliged  to  labour  for  his 
own  improvement, assisted  only  by  a  profound  study  of  the  best  ancient 
and  foreign  writers.  He  spent  a  considerable  time  in  meditating  and 
composing  in  secret.  The  first  fruit  of  a  long;  series  of  studies,  was 
a  collection  of  Fablesand  Tales,  which  he  published  in  1738.  These 
were  the  first  good  fables  that  had  appeared  in  Germany,  and  they 
excited  universal  astonishment.  A  simple,  pure,  concise,  and  flowing 
style  marked  the  talent  of  the  author.  His  Moral  Poems  appeared  in 
1750;  they  are  rather  in  the  satirical  than  the  didactic  style,  and  they 
frequently  present  happy  imitations  of  the  gayety  and  profound  judg- 
ment of  Horace.  His  masterpiece  in  this  class  of  composition  is  his 
poem  on  Felicity.  His  collected  Odes  and  Songs  were  published  in. 
1747  ;  his  Epigrams  appeared  in  1752;  a  complete  edition  of  his 
Poems  appeared  in  1756,  in  three  volumes  octavo;  but  the  best 
edition  of  Hagedorn's  Poems,  containing  his  life,  and  an  interesting 
selection  of  his  letters,  was  published  by  Eschenburg,  in  1800,  in 
five  volumes,  octavo.  The  most  admired  productions  of  this  father 
of  German  poetry,  are,  next  to  his  poem  On  Felicity,  his  tale  of  the 
Cobler,  his  satire,  entitled  The  Scholar;  and  his  poem  on  the  Attributes 
of  the  Deity.  Hagedorn's  fables  and  best  poetic  compositions,  have 
been  translated  into  French  by  Huber. 

HAGEDORN,  (Christian  Ludwig  Von,)  the  brother  of  the  poet, 
was  born  at  Hamburgh  in  1712,  and  died  at  Dresden  on  the  24th  of 
January,  1780.  In  1763,  he  was  appointed  general  superintendent 
of  the  Academies  of  Fine  Arts  at  Dresden  and  Leipsic.  He  was  an 
intelligent  amateur  of  art,  and  is  mentioned  in  highly  complimentary 
terms  by  Wickelmann.  He  is  the  authorof  a  highly  esteemed  work, 
entitled  Reflections  on  Painting,  published  in  German  at  Leipsic  in 
1762  ;  2  vols,  octavo.  There  is  a  Frenrh  translation  by  Huber, 
published  at  Leipsic  in  1775.  Hagedorn  wrote  notes  on  a  work 
attributed  to  Janneck  of  the  Academy  of  Vienna,  entitled  Letters  to  an 
Amateur  of  Painting,  fyc.  published  at  Dresden,  1755,  8vo.  His 
Letters  on  the  Arts  were  published  by  Baden,  in  a  collection  which 
appeared  at  Leipsic  in  1797.  in  2  vols.  8vo. 


JJIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


HALLER,  (Albert  Von,)  a  man  alike  extraordinary  for  vast  powers 
of  mind,  immensity  of  acquirements,  and  universality  of  talent.  He 
was  born  at  Berne  on  the  16th  of  October,  1708,  and  died  on  the  24th 
of  December,  1777.  From  his  boyhood  he  was  passionately  fond 
*  of  reading  ;  and  at  an  early  age  he  collected  a  vast  fund  of  in- 
formation of  every  kind,  without  any  particular  object,  and  excited 
merely  by  the  thirst  for  knowledge.  His  father  intended  him  to 
study  theology  or  law,  but  his  own  inclination  determined  him  in  fa- 
vour of  medicine.  He  studied  ai  Leyden,  under  the  two  celebrated 
professors,  Boerhaave  and  Ruysch.  He  made  equal  advancement  in 
medicine,  anatomy,  physiology,  and  botany  ;  and  his  writings,  many 
of  which  are  esteemed  to  be  classical  works,  bear  evidence  of  his 
genius,  and  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  information.  On  his  re- 
turn to  his  native  country,  he  had  to  encounter  all  the  vexation  of 
envious  opposition,  and  he  failed  in  obtaining  two  professors'  chairs, 
for  which  he  successively  presented  himself  as  a  candidate.  He  was 
seventeen  years  professor  of  Anatomy,  Surgery,  and  Botany,  at  the 
University  of  Gottingen,  where  he  established  an  anatomical  Theatre 
and  a  Botanical  Garden  ;  and  he  conferred  as  many  benefits  on  this 
Institution  as  Boerhaave  secured  to  the  University  of  Leyden. 
Haller  was  three  times  married,  and  he  uniformly  proved  himself  an 
affectionate  husband  and  a  good  father.  Anxious  to  enjoy  repose  in 
his  native  country,  he  declined  propositions  of  the  most  advantageous 
kind,  that  were  made  to  him  from  Russia,  England,  and  Prussia.  He 
returned  to  Berne,  where  he  resided  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 
His  countrymen,  who  became  sensible  of  his  merit  by  the  excellence 
of  his  works,  and  by  the  honours  paid  to  him  by  foreigners,  at  length 
rendered  him  justice,  and  endeavoured  to  make  amends  for  their  for- 
mer neglect  of  him.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Council  of  Berne 
Amman  of  the  Republic,  and  Director  of  the  Salt-mines  of  Bex  and 
Ea^le,  with  a  salary  of  5000  florins.  No  writer  of  the  eighteenth 
century  maintained  a  more  active  and  extensive  correspondence  than 
Haller  :  he  was  consulted  by  natives  of  every  country  in  Europe. 
He  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  Christian  religion,  which  he  defend- 
ed against  the  attacks  of  Voltaire.  In  the  year  1777,  the  Emperor 
Joseph  II.,  who  at  first  would  not  see  Haller,  paid  a  visit  to  him,  and 
treated  him  with  the  most  marked  respect.  The  Germans  regard 
Haller  as  their  second  Leibnitz,  and  as  the  Aristotle  or  the  Pliny  of 
modern  times. 

Haller's  most  celebrated  scientific  works  are  Historia  Plantarum 
Heheticarum,  in  two  volumes,  folio  ;  his  Elementa  Physiolo-ia,  in 
which  he  established  the  new  doctrine  of  irritability  ;  quarto,  Lau- 
sanne, 1757 — 1766;  his  Library  of  Practical  medicine,  and  his  Li- 
braries of  Botany,  Surgery,  and  Anatomy. 

From  his  earliest  youth,  Haller  was  inspired  by  a  great  passion  for 
poetry.  He  at  first  suffered  himself  to  be  seduced  by  the  false  taste 
of  Lohenstein,  and  composed  several  poems  in  the  style  of  that 
writer.  These,  however,  he  burnt,  eight  years  after  he  had  congra- 
tulated himself  on  having  saved  them  from  destruction  during  a  fire. 
At  the  period  when  Haller  began  to  write,  the  German  language  was 
rude  and  unfixed,  and  Opitz,  Canitz,  and  Brockes  were  the  only  na- 
tional models,  for  Hagedorn  was  scarcely  known.  But  Haller.  whose 


&26 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


taste  was  refined  by  the  study  of  the  classics  and  the  English  poets,  ap- 
proximated to  nature  and  truth.  His  inspirations  were  all  fresh  and 
original,  and  his  language  was  more  dignified,  concise,  and  energetic 
than  that  of  any  previous  German  poet.  In  1732  he  published 
anonymously  his  first  collection  of  poems,  which  excited  the  highest 
interest.  His  Morning  Thoughts,  accounted  his  best  poetic  compo- 
sition, were  written  as  early  as  1725. 

Haller's  poetic  works  consist  chiefly  of  moral  odes,  satires,  and 
didactic  poems.  His  masterpieces  are  two  elegies  on  the  death  of  his 
two  first  wives,  which  are  full  of  exquisite  pathos.  *  His  descriptive 
and  moral  poem,  entitled  The  Alps,  those  on  the  Origin  of  Evil,  Eter- 
nity, Reason,  Superstition,  and  Incredulity,  and  his  Odes  on  Honour 
and  Virtue  obtained  the  highest  success  :  they  rank  among  the 
author's  best  works.  Some  of  his  poems,  (particularly  that  on  the 
Alps,)  have  been  censured  for  heavy  and  monotonous  measure,  unpo- 
lished style,  and  traces  of  bombast.  But  it  cannot  be  denied  that  his 
compositions  breathe  the  genuine  spirit  of  poetry,  and  are  animated 
by  the  sublimest  inspirations.  Though  Haller  has  been  surpassed  in 
harmony,  grace,  and  correctness,  he  has  perhaps  never  been  equalled 
in  richness  and  vigour  of  imagination,  or  energy  and  conciseness  of 
style.  He  himself  declared,  with  too  much  modesty,  that  he  bad  no 
claim  to  the  character  of  a  poet  ;  and  that  he  merely  cultivated  poe- 
try as  a  recreation,  and  a  change  from  his  more  serions  occupations. 
He  considered  himself  to  be  greatly  inferior  to  Hagedorn.  Though 
endowed  with  different  kinds  of  talent,  Haller  and  Hagedorn  equally 
contributed  to  mark  a  new  era  in  German  poetry,  and  their  names 
are  inseparably  connected  together.  Haller  stands  at  the  head  of  the 
moral  and  didactic  poets  of  Germany. 

He  is  the  author  of  three  political  novels,  entitled,  U-Song,  Alfred 
and  Fabricius,  and  Cato.  Their  subjects  are  the  three  forms  of  go- 
vernment, the  despotic,  the  limited  monarchical,  and  the  republican. 
The  characters  are  ably  drawn,  and  the  language  good  ;  but  the 
works  are,  upon  the  whole,  deficient  in  interest,  and  they  are  now 
seldom  read. 

HAM  ANN,  (John  George,)  was  born  at  Kcenigsberg  on  the  23d  of 
August,  1730,  and  died  at  Miinster  on  the  21st  of  June,  1788.  He 
was  the  contemporary  and  the  countryman  of  Kant,  and  was  distin- 
guished as  an  author  and  a  philosopher.  Hamann  was  one  of  those 
extraordinary  characters  who  may  be  looked  upon  as  adventurers  in 
the  career  of  philosophy  and  literature,  and  who,  by  a  whimsical 
turn  of  mind,  are  prompted  to  veil  in  enigmatical  obscurity  the  re- 
sults of  their  profound  meditations.  He  was  one  of  those  deep 
thinkers,  who  are  often  possessed  with  the  unaccountable  mania  of 
rendering  themselves  unintelligible,  and  whose  talent  shines  by 
flashes,  like  the  lightning  amidst  darkness. 

The  life  of  Hamann  was  as  irregular  and  unsettled  as  his  ideas. 
His  father  wished  him  to  study  theology  or  law  as  his  profession  ;  but 
he  soon  conceived  a  dislike  to  these  studies.  He  proceeded  to  Cour- 
land,  and  afterward  to  Riga,  where  he  became  a  tutor  in  several  no- 
ble families.  At  Riga  he  formed  a  connexion  with  a  mercantile 
house,  and  he  directed  his  attention  to  political  economy,  finance, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


327 


and  commerce,  in  the  hope  that  his  knowledge  of  these  subjects 
would  afford  him  the  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  With  a  view  of 
managing  some  business  for  his  friends,  but  more  particularly  for  the 
sake  of  recovering  his  health,  and  gratifying  his  taste,  he  travelled 
between  the  years  1756  and  1758  to  Berlin,  Lubeck,  Holland,  and 
England.  After  remaining  for  upwards  of  a  year  in  London,  where 
he  wished  to  fix  his  residence,  circumstances  compelled  him  to  return 
to  Riga,  and  he  employed  himself  for  some  time  in  superintending 
the  education  of  the  children  of  his  friends,  whose  commercial  cor- 
respondence he  also  managed.  From  1759  to  1762  he  resided  with 
his  father,  who  was  in  a  declining  state  of  health,  and  he  applied 
himself  to  the  study  of  the  classical  authors  and  the  oriental  languages. 
He  again  returned  to  Courland  and  Livonia,  and  visited  his  native  city, 
where  for  the  space  of  two  years  he  obtained  some  trivial  employ- 
ment in  the  capacity  of  a  clerk.  In  1764  he  travelled  into  Germany, 
and  visited  Basle  and  Alsace,  where  he  went  in  quest  of  an  indivi- 
dual, who  had  expressed  the  highest  interest  for  him  ;  but  he 
returned  without  having  seen  him.  In  1765  he  repaired  to  Mittau 
to  nil  the  situation  of  tutor  in  the  family  of  a  celebrated  lawyer,  whom 
he  accompanied  to  Warsaw.  On  the  death  of  his  father  he  returned 
to  Kcenigsberg.  His  attachment  for  his  native  country  induced  him 
to  decline  the  acceptance  of  a  very  advantageous  situation  abroad  ; 
and  in  the  year  1766  he  was  appointed  Interpreting  Secretary  of 
the  excise  and  customs  in  Kœnigsberg.  This  situation  he  retained  until 
1777,  when  he  became  superintendent  of  the  customs.  His  health, 
which  was  in  a  very  delicate  state,  prevented  him  from  devoting  to 
study  so  much  of  his  leisure  time  as  he  could  have  wished.  In  1784 
the  bounty  of  an  unknown  friend  secured  him  for  ever  against  the 
possibility  of  want,  and  he  hoped  to  restore  his  health  by  a  visit  to 
Germany,  which  he  had  long  wished  to  undertake  ;  but  it  was  not 
until  1787,  after  twenty  years'  service,  that  he  could  obtain  leave  to 
retire  from  office  with  an  adequate  pension.  He  immediately  set 
out  for  Munster,  the  principal  object  of  his  journey,  and  he  resided 
alternately  in  that  city  and  at  Dusseldorf  with  the  privy  counsellor 
Jacobi,  until  the  period  of  his  death,  which  was  accelerated  by  un- 
remitting illness.  Princess  Gallitzin,  who  resided  at  Munster,  and 
who  is  celebrated  for  her  love  of  literature,  erected  a  monument  to 
his  memory  in  her  pleasure-grounds,  where  he  was  buried. 

Almost  all  Hamann's  works  have  fanciful  and  enigmatical  titles. 
The  first  which  excited  attention  in  Germany  were  his  Socratic  Me- 
;:tGria!s,  [Amsterdam,  that  is  to  say,  Kœnigsberg,  1759,]  and  his 
Philological  Crusades,  [Kœnigsberg,  1762.]  We  may  also  mention 
his  works,  entitled  To  the  Sorceress  of  Kadmonbor,  Berlin,  (Frank- 
fort on  the  Maine,)  1773;  Hier ophantic  Letters  of  Vetius  Epagathus 
Regiomonticola,  (Riga,  1775:)  Essay  on  Marriage  by  a  Sybil,  (pub- 
lished at  the  same  place,  and  in  the  same  year  ;)  #>yfejt«r<*£,  A 
Fragment  by  an  Apocalyptic  Sybil  on  Apocalyptical  Mysteries,  1779  ; 
and  finally  one  of  his  latest  writings,  no  less  whimsical  than  those 
which  preceded  it,  entitled  Golgotha  and  Scheblemini,  by  a  Man 
preaching  in  the  Desert.  Riga,  1784.  Hamann  also  published  in 
French  Mosaic  Essays,  containing,  1st,  A  geological  and  Provincial 
Letter  on  the  Inoculation  of  Good-Sense  ;  and  2d,  A  Philippic  Glos^ 


328 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


Mittau,  1762. — A  Lost  Letter  from  a  Northern  Savage  to  a  Financier 
of  Pékin.  [M.  Delattre.] — Two  more  Lost  Letters  !  !  [to  M.  Icilius.] 
Riga,  1773.— The  Kermes  of  the  North,  or  the  Cochineal  of  Poland. 
Mittau,  1774. 

The  writings  of  Hamann  prove  how  much  he  read  and  observed, 
collected  and  studied.  His  imagination  is  fertile  and  original.  Amidst 
his  fantastic  conceptions  there  frequently  occur  passages  remarkable 
for  delicate  irony,  piquant  observation,  and  extraordinary  energy 
and  richness  of  ideas.  But  these  flashes  of  genius,  these  rays  of 
sound  and  powerful  reason,  are  almost  obscured  in  the  gloomy  chaos 
of  his  illuminism  and  his  mystical  style.  He  invariably  maintains 
the  tone  of  a  visionary  ;  his  wanderings,  his  mysterious  allusions,  his 
taste  for  emblems,  his  enigmatical  quotations,  his  abuse  of  scriptural 
passages,  and  his  style,  which  is  incoherent  and  full  of  whimsical 
metaphor,  disgust  instead  of  attracting  the  reader.  As  Goethe  observes, 
it  is  always  impossible  to  discover  the  point  from  which  he  has  started, 
or  that  to  which  he  intends  to  proceed.  Upon  the  whole,  Hamann's 
writings  can  only  be  ranked  in  the  class  of  literary  curiosities. 

HANS  SACHS.    See  Sachs. 

HEINSE,  (Wilhelm,)  was  born  at  Langenweisen,  a  village  near 
Ilmenau  in  Thuringen,  in  the  year  1749  ;  and  died  on  the  22d  of 
June,  1803.  He  received  his  education  at  Erfurt,  and  chose  Wie- 
land  as  his  model  and  his  guide.  He  was  the  friend  of  Gleim,  whose 
bounty  relieved  him  from  a  state  of  poverty  which  he  had  previously 
endured  with  truly  philosophic  cheerfulness.  He  also  maintained  a 
footing  of  friendship  with  Miiller  and  John  George  Jacobi,  conjointly 
with  whom  he  edited  the  Iris,  He  was  Reader  to  the  Elector  of 
Mentz  at  Aschaffenburg,  and  subsequently  became  one  of  the  Elec- 
tor's Court  Counsellors,  and  his  librarian. 

Heinse  was  one  of  the  most  original  and  witty  writers  of  whom 
Germany  can  boast.  His  6rst  letter  to  Gleim,  to  whom  he  had  been 
recommended  by  Wieland,  and  which  contains  a  summary  account  of 
his  life,  is  full  of  exquisite  humour.  He  commenced  his  literary 
career  in  1771,  by  a  collection  of  Epigrams.  He  published  in  1773 
a  translation  of  Petronius,  with  remarks  ;  a  production  which  reflects 
greater  honour  on  his  talent  than  on  his  morality.  In  1774  he  pro- 
duced a  philosophic  and  descriptive  romance  entitled  Laidion  [Lais,] 
or  the  Mysteries  of  Eleusis.  This  Romance  was  very  successful.  It 
is  written  in  a  style  too  highly  coloured  and  flowery  for  prose  compo- 
sition :  but  this  is  a  fault  common  to  many  of  Heinse's  work  s.  He  was 
a  passionate  lover  of  the  fine  arts,  and  particularly  of  music  :  and 
his  taste  was  greatly  improved  by  his  residence  in  Dusseldorf  and 
Italy,  where  he  spent  three  years,  after  having  travelled  through 
Alsace,  Switzerland,  Geneva,  and  the  South  of  France.  In  Italy  he 
executed  his  prose  translations  of  Jerusalem  Delivered  and  Orlando 
Furioso.  On  his  return  he  resided  at  Mentz  with  the  celebrated 
historian  Miiller  ;  and  he  took  advantage  of  the  leisure  he  enjoyed 
at  this  period  to  write  his  two  romances  of  Ardingbello,  2  vols.  1787, 
and  Hildegardvon  Hohentahl,  3  vols.  1795,  1796.  The  ruling  idea 
which  Heinse  has  developed  in  these  two  compositions  is  as  follows 


HiOLrRAPHICÀL  NOTICES. 


329 


"  Beauty  alone  attaches  the  susceptible  man  to  the  world,  to  nature, 
and  to  all  living  creatures.  The  happiness  for  which  man  is  born, 
consists  in  the  feeling  for  and  theenjoyment  of  beauty  of  every  kind." 
In  these  romances  Heinse  has  depicted  the  sentiments  which  the  arts 
of  painting  and  music  produced  upon  himself.  Like  Goethe,  he  was 
enthusiastically  fond  of  Italy.  He  was  penetrated  with  just  and  pro- 
found admiration  for  the  ancient  and  modern  monuments  that  adorn  the 
classic  land  of  art  ;  and  he  has  described  them  though  with  less  purity 
of  taste  and  imagination  than  the  author  of  Tasso.  Heinse's  enthusi- 
asm was  roused  only  by  that  kind  of  beauty  which  charms  the  senses. 
He  never  rose  to  the  perception  of  moral  beauty.  His  pen  imparts 
to  the  language  of  passion  a  degree  of  extravagance  which  staggers 
the  reader.  The  influence  of  Petronius  is  too  obvious  in  all  his  pic- 
tures ;  however,  his  descriptions  of  the  ruins  of  Rome,  the  monu- 
ments of  antiquity,  and  other  works  of  art,  are  executed  with  a 
masterly  hand  ;  and  the  vivid  colouring  of  his  language  almost  brings, 
as  it  were,  every  object  present  to  the  eye  of  the  reader.  His  ju- 
dicious remarks  enhance  the  interest  of  his  descriptions.  His  letters  to 
Gleira  are  characterized  by  the  same  kind  of  merit  :  the  collection 
contains,  among  other  valuable  things,  an  admirable  description  of 
the  festival  of  St.  Peter,  at  Rome. 

The  dialogues  on  music,  which  were  written  by  Heinse  in  his 
youth,  when  struggling  with  poverty  and  privation  at  Erfurt,  were 
published  at  Leipsic  in  1805.  The  work  bears  no  traces  of  the 
miserable  condition  of  the  author,  during  the  time  he  was  engaged 
upon  it.  These  dialogues,  which  were  written  in  1776  or  1777,  are' 
full  of  novel  and  original  ideas  on  the  delightful  art  of  which  they 
treat.  The  interlocutors  in  the  first  dialogue  are  Rousseau  and  Jo- 
rnelU. 

HERDER, (John  Gottfried  Von,)  a  native  of  Mohrungen  in  Eastern 
Prussia.  He  was  born  on  the  25th  of  August,  1744;  and  he  died 
at  Weimar  on  the  18th  of  December,  1803.  His  family  was  humble 
and  poor,  and  he  had  to  struggle  with  difficulties  in  order  to  acquire 
education  and  open  his  career  in  literature.  He  was  successively 
a  Professor  of  the  Frederick  College  at  Kcenigsberg,  Chaplain  and 
Director  to  the  school  attached  to  the  Cathedral  of  Riga,  Court  Chap- 
lain, Consistorial  Superintendent  and  Counsellor  at  Buckeburg,  and 
finally  Court  Chaplain  and  President  of  the  Consistory  at  Weimar. 
Herder  was  at  once  distinguished  as  a  preacher,  a  scholar,  a  philoso- 
pher, a  historian,  a  moralist,  and  a  poet.  He  possessed  an  enthu- 
siastic mind,  a  powerful  understanding,  and  his  whole  life  was  in- 
fluenced by  the  desire  of  doing  good.  His  grand  object  was  toappîy 
literature  to  the  moral  improvement  and  happiness  of  mankind.  He 
employed  profound  and  varied  erudition  and  extraordinary  talent,  in 
ascertaining  the  progress  that  had  already  been  made  in  order  to  se- 
cure future  advancement.  He  investigated  the  spirit  of  ancient  na- 
tions and  institutions,  and  the  genius  of  ancient  poetry,  in  order  to 
attach  his  contemporaries  to  all  that  was  excellent  in  ancient  traditions. 
Herder  bears  a  resemblance  at  once  to  Plato  and  to  Fenelon.  His 
eloquent  style  is  more  classical  and  more  European  than  that  of  any 
other  German  writer,  without  in  any  degree  compromising  the  ori- 

Tt 


330 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


ginalities  of  his  own  genius,  or  that  of  his  nation.  He  wrote  eu 
various  subjects,  and  almost  all  his  works  attest  the  excellence  of  his 
mind  and  his  talent.  Among  his  principal  productions  the  following 
may  be  distinguished  : — His  five  Discourses  or  Memorials,  which 
obtained  prizes  at  the  Academy  of  Berlin. — 1st,  On  the  Origin  of 
Language,  1770.  (This  is  the  Discourse  mentioned  by  Goethe.) 
2d,  On  the  Causes  of  the  decline  of  Taste  in  different  Nations,  1773. 
3d,  On  the  Influence  of  the  Study  of  Polite  Literature  and  the  Arts  on  the 
Advancement  of  Science.  4th,  On  t  ie  Effect  produced  by  Poetry  on  t'ie 
Morals  of  Nations.  5th,  On  the  Influence  of  Government  on  Science, 
1779.  His  poem  of  The  Cid,  from  the  Spanish  romances  on  the 
same  subject. — On  the  Ancient  popular  Ballads  of  different  Nations 
{Volks-liede.) — On  Antiquity,  and  principally  on  the  Monuments  of  Per- 
sepolis. — Inquiry  into  the  Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry. — His  Sermons  and 
Homilies,  which  are  imbued  with  the  inspirations  of  Fenelon. — His 
Critical  Examination  of  the  Philosophy  of  Kant,  entitled  Reason  and 
Experience,  2  vols.  8vo.  Leipsic,  1799. — Calligone,  8vo.  Leipsic, 
1800. — Criticism  on  Kanfs  JEsthctics,  or  Theory  of  the  Beautiful. — 
Letters  on  the  Improvement  of  Mankind,  1  vol.  8vo.  Riga,  1793  and 
1797.  This  last  is  ranked  among  Herder's  best  works.  But  his 
chef-d'œuvre,  which  has  gained  him  the  highest  reputation  in  Europe, 
is  his  Philosophy  of  History.  Muller  the  historian  edited  this  pro- 
duction in  the  collection  of  Herder's  works,  of  which  28  vols.  8vo. 
had  appeared  at  Leipsic  in  1809.  Madame  de  Staël,  speaking  of  this 
Philosophy  of  History,  says,  that  in  point  of  style  it  is  probably  superior 
to  any  other  German  work.  The  two  first  volumes,  in  which  the  au- 
thor approaches  very  closely  to  the  manner  of  Buffon  and  Bernardin 
de  Saint  Pierre,  present  a  picture  of  the  globe  and  its  revolutions  in 
their  connexion  with  man.  The  two  last  volumes  contain  an  Essay 
on  Universal  History,  ancient  and  modern,  in  which  Herder  proves 
himself  worthy  to  compete  with  Bossuet  and  Montesquieu.  In  spite 
of  the  turn  for  raillery  and  the  caustic  humour  which  Goethe  has  re- 
marked in  Herder,  his  character  was,  as  Goethe  himself  says,  truly 
amiable  and  noble.  His  virtues  and  talents  rendered  him  highly  re- 
spected by  his  countrymen.  He  resided  long  at  the  court  of  Weimar, 
the  Athens  of  Germany,  in  the  society  of  Goethe,  Wieland,  and 
Schiller.  There  are  two  notices  on  Herder,  in  Vols.  I.  and  II.  of 
the.  Literary  Archives,  published  in  Paris  in  1803  and  1804;  and 
there  is  in  German  a  publication,  entitled  Characteristics  of  Her- 
der, by  Danz  and  Gruber,  Leipsic,  1805.  The  King,  then  Elector 
of  Bavaria,  presented  to  Herder  a  patent  of  nobility  for  himself 
and  his  descendants.  Meusel,  in  his  fourth  edition  of  the  Literature 
of  Germany,  (Lemgo,)  1783,  says,  Herder  was  born  on  the  25th  of 
April,  1741  ;  but  Goethe,  who  was  born  in  1749,  remarks  that  Herder 
was  only  five  years  older  than  he  :  the  date  specified  in  the  Universal 
Biography  is,  therefore,  most  probably  correct. 

HEYNE,  (Christian  Gottlieb, )was  born  on  the  25th  of  September, 
1729,  at  Chemnitz  in  Saxony  ;  and  died  at  Gottingen  on  the  14th  of 
July,  1812.  He  was  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  and  Librarian  of  the 
University  of  Gottingen,  perpetual  secretary  of  the  Royal  Society  of 


I î  1 0 G R A F H I C  A L   NOTICES  . 


331 


Sciences,  Director  of  the  Philological  Seminary,  and  a  member  of  al- 
most every  learned  Society  in  Europe.  He  was  the  most  celebrated 
philologist,  antiquary,  and  archaeologist  of  Germany  ;  and  he  wrote 
Latin  with  more  elegance  than  any  other  German  author.  The  dili- 
gent labours  by  which  he  has  thrown  a  light  on  mythology,  and  on 
ancient  history  and  art,  are  celebrated  throughout  Europe.  His 
commented  editions  of  Tihullus,  Homer,  Pindar,  Epictetus,  Diodorus 
Siculus,  and  particularly  of  Virgil,  are  also  well  known.  He  is  the 
author  of  many  essays  and  biographical  notices,  of  which  the  most 
distinguished  are  those  on  Haller,  Machaëlis,  and  Winckelmann.  The 
last  has  been  translated  into  French  by  C.  Bruck,  and  was  printed 
at  Gottingen  in  1783. 

HOELTY,  (Ludwig  Henry  Christopher,)  was  born  at  Mariensee, 
in  the  Electorate  of  Hanover,  on  the  21st  of  December,  1748  ;  and 
died  at  Hanover  on  the  1st  of  Sept.  1776,  before  he  had  completed 
his  twenty-first  year.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  seem  to  be 
born  exclusively  for  the  study  of  Literature.  In  his  boyhood,  his 
passion  for  reading  occupied  him  day  and  night.  He  evinced  a  pre- 
cocious taste  for  poetry,  and  at  the  age  of  eleven  he  composed  an 
epitaph  in  verse  on  a  favourite  dog  :  this  production  has  been  pre- 
served. Study,  however,  had  no  effect  in  impairing  his  amiability 
of  temper  ;  and  he  gained  the  affection  of  all  who  knew  him.  He 
received  from  his  father  an  excellent  education,  which  was  completed 
by  an  academic  course  of  study  at  Gottingen.  There  he  formed  ac- 
quaintance with  Burger,  Miller,  Voss,  Boie,  Hahn,  Leisewilz,  the 
younger  Cramer,  and  the  two  Counts  Von  Stolberg,  whose  names  af- 
terward became  so  highly  celebrated.  These  young  literary  neo- 
phytes held  weekly  meetings  together,  in  which  they  read  and  dis- 
cussed subjects  of  art  and  literature  :  they  also  communicated  to 
each  other  the  labours  they  were  engaged  on,  and  those  which  were 
approved  were  inscribed  in  a  book  for  the  purpose.  Hoelty  spoke 
but  little  in  company,  and  he  rarely  mingled  in  conversation  even 
when  among  his  friends  :  but  on  the  mention  of  any  virtuous  or  ge- 
nerous action,  his  feelings  were  immediately  roused,  and  he  expressed 
himself  with  eloquence.  He  was  ever  obliging  and  ready  to  render 
service  :  and  he  felt  a  keen  sense  of  any  act  of  injustice  committed 
toward  others.  His  love  of  the  beauties  of  rural  nature  amounted 
to  enthusiasm.  At  the  early  age  at  which  he  died  he  had  acquired 
a  vast  store  of  information  :  he  was  master  of  geography  and  history, 
and  was  familiar  with  the  ancient  languages,  including  Hebrew.  He 
Viio  possessed  an  intimate  knowledge  of  French,  English,  Spanish, 
and  Italian. 

Hoelty  excelled  in  the  composition  of  ballads,  idyls,  odes,  and 
son^s  ;  his  genius  was  peculiarly  suited  to  the  description  of  rural 
and&melancholy  scenes.  His  lyric  compositions  abound  in  exquisite 
pathos.  He  has  sometimes  been  blamed  for  a  sort  of  poetic  luxury 
in  language  and  imagery.  His  premature  death  proved  a  severe  loss 
to  German  literature. 

The  best  edition  of  Hoelty's  poems  is  that  which  was  published 
by  Voss,  at  Hamburgh  in  1804,  with  an  Essay  on  the  life  of  the  poet, 

Hoelty  also  executed  some  translations  from  English  works, 


332 


aiOGRATHICAL  NOTICE? 


HOFFMANNSWALDAU,  (Christian  Hofmann  Von.)  We  have 
often  had  occasion  to  mention  the  name  of  this  poet,  who,  conjointly 
with  Lohenstein ,  contributed  to  corrupt  the  taste  of  his  contemporaries , 
and  to  check  the  impulse  which  Opitz  gave  to  the  Germanic  Muse. 

Hoffraannswaldau,  who,  as  well  as  Lohenstein,  was  the  country- 
man and  contemporary  of  Opitz,  was  born  on  the  25th  of  December, 
1618,  at  Breslau.  His  mental  faculties  were  developed  at  a  very 
early  age  ;  and  while  pursuing  his  studies  at  Dantzic,  Opitz,  who  was 
in  that  city  at  the  time,  remarked  his  happy  talent  for  poetry.  After 
6nishing  his  education  at  Leyden,  under  Salmasius,  Vossius,  and  other 
distinguished  men,  he  travelled  through  the  Netherlands,  England, 
France,  and  Italy.  On  his  return  to  his  native  city  he  married,  and 
filled  successively  several  honourable  posts  ;  among  others,  that  of 
President  of  the  city  council.  He  died  on  the  1 8th  of  April,  1679, 
at  the  age  of  sixty-one. 

Hoffmannswaldau  at  first  endeavoured  to  form  his  poetic  style  by 
the  study  of  the  ancients,  and  the  example  of  Opitz.  It  would  have 
been  fortunate  had  he  remained  faithful  to  Opitz,  to  the  ancients,  and 
to  nature  ;  but  he  suffered  himself  to  be  seduced  by  the  false  wit  and 
affectation  of  the  Italian  poets  of  his  age  ;  and  he  introduced  into 
German  poetry  the  bad  taste,  antithesis,  quaintness,  false  brilliancy, 
and  forced  metaphor  of  Guarini,  Marini,  and  the  writers  of  that 
school.  This  bad  taste  was  admired  and  imitated,  and  the  poets  of 
Germany  forsook  the  course  which  had  been  opened  to  them  by 
Opitz.  Hoffmannswaldau  was  the  first  German  poet  who  wrote  He- 
roides  ;  and  he  was  the  first  who  treated  in  this  style  of  poetic 
composition  the  interesting  subject  of  the  loves  of  Eloisa  and  Abe- 
lard.  But,  instead  of  pure  sensibility  and  warmth  of  feeling,  the 
Heroides  of  the  German  poet  are  distinguished  only  by  bombast, 
vulgar  ideas,  and  coarse  equivoque.  Hoffmannswaldau  translated 
Guarini's  Pastor  Fido,  and  wrote  a  vast  number  of  poems  in  various 
styles.  Almost  the  only  one  that  is  now  read,  and  in  which  he  seems 
to  have  surpassed  himself,  is  entitled  Eulogium  on  an  Amiable  Lady. 
The  first  collection  of  his  works  appeared  at  Breslau  in  1673  ;  the 
second  edition  bears  the  date  of  1730. 

HUBER,  (Michael,)  was  born  on  the  27th  of  September,  1727,  at 
Frankenhausen  in  Lower  Bavaria.  At  an  early  age  he  left  Germany 
and  repaired  to  Paris,  where  he  applied  himself  for  a  length  of  time 
to  the  study  of  literature  and  the  arts.  In  1764  he  married  a  young 
Parisian  lady.  In  Paris,  he  became  acquainted  with  many  celebra- 
ted literary  characters,  for  example,  the  Abbé  Arnaud,  Suard,  Tur- 
got,  &c.  Huber  possessed  extensive  talent  and  a  correct  taste.  As 
he  was  equally  master  of  the  French  and  German  languages,  he  un- 
dertook the  task  of  introducing  into  France  a  knowledge  of  the  great 
writers  who  reflected  honour  on  the  literature  of  his  own  country  : 
and  between  the  years  1761  and  1765  he  published  an  excellent 
translation  of  Gessner's  Idyls  and  other  Poems,  in  which  he  was 
greatly  assisted  by  Turgot.  In  1766  he  published  in  four  volumes 
a  tasteful  selection  of  German  poems,  from  the  works  of  Hagedorn, 
Gellert,  Utz,  Kleist,  and  other  celebrated  writers  of  that  period. 
He  also  assisted  Arnaud  and  Suard  in  conducting  the  Journal  Etran- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICED 


333 


gen.  About  this  time  the  study  of  the  German  language  became 
very  fashionable  in  Paris,  and  Huber  was  much  employed  in  teaching; 
it.  In  1766  the  El^tress  of  Saxony,  (the  widoiv  of  Frederick 
Christian)  who  was  a  Bavarian  Princess,  invited  him  to  Leipsic,  and 
he  was  appointed  professor  of  the  French  language  at  the  University 
of  that  city.  In  this  capacity,  as  well  by  his  correct  judgment  of 
works  of  art,  as  by  his  excellent  translations  of  the  b^st  productions 
of  German  literature,  he  rendered  signal  services  to  his  native  coun- 
try. At  his  residence  at  Leipsic,  he  assembled  daily  meetings  of  the 
most  distinguished  students  of  the  University,  who  freely  discussed 
together,  in  the  French  language,  literary  questions,  or  the  most  in- 
teresting political  topics  of  the  day.  No  foreigner  of  note  visited 
Leipsic  without  attending  these  meetings.  Huber  died  on  the  15th 
April,  1804,  in  his  seventy-seventh  year,  highly  and  justly  respected. 

Independently  of  his  translation  of  Gessner's  works,  Huber  is  the 
author  of  Notes  for  the  History  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Winckel- 
mann. — A  translation  of  Thiimmel's  Wilhelmina. — A  general  Notice 
of  Engravings,  with  a  descriptive  Catalogue  of  the  Collection  of  Prints 
at  Dresden  and  Leipsic  ;  Mil. — The  new  Robinson  Crusoe,  translated 
from  the  German  oi'  Campe,  1793,  in  8vo. — A  descriptive  Catalogue 
of  the  Cabinet  of  Prints  belonging  to  M.  Brandes  of  Hanover,  contain- 
ing Specimens  of  every  School  of  Engraving  from  ancient  times  to  the 
present  day.  Leipsic,  1793,  1796,  2  vols.  8vo.  Huber  revised  the 
French  translation  executed  by  MM.  O.  and  X.  of  Wolke's  Natural 
Method  of  Instruction  for  accelerating,  without  translation,  the  compré- 
hension of  the  words  of  every  Foreign  Language,  fy-c.  1782,  1788,  in 
Svo.  He  published  new  editions  of  the  following  works  ;  Gellerfs 
Letters,  with  an  Eulogium  on  the  author;  1770  and  1777. — A  work  on 
Education,  by  Basedow. — Reflections  on  Painting,  by  Christian  Lud- 
wig  Hagedorn,  the  brother  of  the  Poet.  2  vols.  Leipsic,  1775. — 
Winckelmann* s  History  of  Art  and  Antiquity.  Leipsic,  1781,  3  vols. 
4to. — Philosophic  Letters  on  Switzerland,  by  Meiners.  2  vols.  8vo. 
Strasburgh,  1786.—  The  Life  of  Manstein,  prefixed  to  an  edition  oi  his 
Account  of  Russia.  Leipsic,  1771. — A  general  notice  of  Engraving 
and  Painting,  preceded  by  a  History  of  these  two  Arts.  Dresden  and 
Leipsic,  1787. 

JACOBI,  (John  George,)  the  elder  of  two  brothers,  both  cele- 
brated in  the  modern  school  of  German  literature.  He  was  born  at 
Dusseldorff  on  the  Lower  Rhine,  and  studied  at  Helmstadt  and  Got- 
tingen.  His  friend  Clotz  invited  him  to  Halle,  where  he  was  crea- 
ted Professor  of  Philosophy  and  Rhetoric.  The  friendship  he  con- 
tracted with  Gleim  awakened  his  love  of  poetry.  In  1769,  Gleim 
procured  for  him  the  appointment  of  prebendary  of  Halberstadt, 
which  enabled  him  to  live  with  ease  and  independence.  In  1 784,  he 
became  Professor  of  Polite  Literature  at  the  university  of  Friburg, 
in  Brisgau,  where  he  delivered,  with  great  success,  lectures  on  the 
classic  writers  of  antiquity  and  on  aesthetics. 

John  George  Jacobi  acquired  high  reputation  as  a  lyric  poet  and  a 
dramatist  ;  but  his  lyric  poems  are  his  best  compositions.  His  mo- 
dels were  Chappelle,  Chaulieu,  and  Gresset.  The  prevailing  cha- 
racteristics of  his  compositions  are  grace,  delicacy,  and  harmony  of 


3S4 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


versification.  He  described  in  an  exquisite  strain  of  gayety  and  sim- 
plicity the  pleasures  of  rural  life.  He  has,  however,  been  reproach- 
ed for  affectation  and  some  other  faults.  He  is  the  author  of  songs, 
cantatas,  romances,  and  poetical  pictures  ;  and  he  has  also  written 
some  epistles.  His  Winter  Journey  and  his  Summer  Journey,  which 
are  written  after  the  manner  of  Sterne,  and  are  partly  in  prose, 
partly  in  verse,  have  been  much  admired.  The  first  edition  of  his 
works  appeared  at  Halberstadt  between  the  years  1770  and  1774,  in 
three  volumes.  The  second,  collected  and  augmented,  was  publish- 
ed at  Zurich,  in  four  volumes,  between  the  years  1807  and  1809. 

John  George  Jacobi  co-operated  with  his  friends  Heinsr%  Gleim, 
Goethe,  Klamer-Schmidt,  Lenz,  Schlosser,  Caroline  Rudolphi,  So- 
phia La  Roche,  &c,  in  the  management  of  a  quarterly  miscellany 
for  ladies,  entitled  the  Iris,  published  at  Dusseldorf  and  Berlin  from 
1774  to  1776.  Jacobi  resumed  the  work  under  the  same  title,  and 
in  the  form  of  an  almanac,  in  1805,  and  continued  it  till  1807.  He 
also  published  a  literary  almanac  from  1793  to  1800,  in  which  he 
was  assisted  by  Herder,  John  Paul  Richter,  Klopstock,  Pfeffel,  John 
Henry  Voss,  Zink,  Griibel,  Frederick  Brun,  &c.  This  publication 
contains  some  excellent  literary  articles  and  fragments  of  poetry. 

JACOBI,  (Frederick  Henry,)  the  younger  brother  of  John 
George  Jacobi,  was  born  at  Dusseldorf  in  1743.  He  is  highly  cele- 
brated among  the  philosophers  and  moralists  of  Germany.  He  held 
the  situations  of  Counsellor  and  Commissioper  of  Taxes  at  Berg  and 
Juliers,  and  was  a  Privy  Counsellor  at  Dusseldorf.  Jacobi,  as 
Goethe  observes,  long  studied,  with  the  restlessness  of  an  ardent 
spirit,  questions  which  are  but  indissoluble  problems  to  the  most 
powerful  and  profound  understandings.  Endowed  with  an  imagina- 
tive mind  and  a  susceptible  heart,  Jacobi  was  aided  in  his  investiga- 
tion of  these  difficult  questions  by  that  ray  of  inward  sentiment 
which  enlightened  Plato,  Socrates,  and  Fenelon.  The  dryness  of 
Spinosa's  system  was  calculated  to  repel  a  mind  like  that  of  Jacobi. 
Kant's  doctrine  was  also  too  abstruse  for  him,  and  he  opposed  the 
opinions  of  both  these  famous  philosophers.  Madame  de  Staël's 
work  on  Germany  contains  an  account  of  the  philosophy  of  Jacobi 
and  his  moral  romance  entitled  Woldemar.  He  assisted  Wieland  in 
editing  the  German  Mercury. 

JERUSALEM,  (John  Frederick  William,)  was  born  at  Osnabruck 
on  the  22d  of  November,  1709,  and  died  at  Brunswick  on  the  2d  of 
September,  1789.  Jerusalem  was  a  celebrated  theologist  and  pro- 
testant preacher.  He  was  Almoner  to  the  court  of  Brunswick, 
and  tutor  to  the  famous  Duke  of  Brunswick,  who  was  mortally 
wounded  at  the  battle  of  Jena.  He  was  the  founder  of  the  Caroline 
College  at  Brunswick,  and  Director  and  principal  professor  of  the 
seminary  at  Riddagshausen,  of  which  place  the  Duke  gave  him  the 
dignity  and  revenues  of  Abbot.  In  addition  to  his  excellent  ser- 
mons, he  has  written  Letters  on  the  Religion  of  Moses,  1762. — Consi- 
derations on  Religious  Truths.  This  work  has  been  translated  into 
French,  and  is  universally  esteemed. — Refutation  of  the  Opinions  of 
Frederick  the  Great  on  German  Literature.    The  virtues  and  talents 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES* 


335 


of  Jerusalem  rendered  him  the  object  of  universal  esteem.  His 
daughter  published  at  Brunswick  in  1792-3,  the  posthumous  works 
of  her  father,  2  vols.  8vo.  The  second  volume  contains  a  brief 
notice  of  his  life,  written  by  himself.  There  is  also  a  life  of  him 
by  an  anonymous  author,  published  at  Altona  in  1790  ;  and  another 
by  his  friend  Eschenburg,  which  appeared  in  the  German  Monthly 
Magazine,  in  June,  1791.  Jerusalem  w;is  the  father  of  the  interest- 
ing and  unfortunate  youth  from  whom  Goethe  copied  the  hero  of 
his  Werther.  The  second  edition  of  Jerusalem's  collected  Sermons 
appeared  at  Brunswick  in  1788-9. 

JUNG-STILLING,  (John  Henry,)  was  born  at  Hilchenback  in 
the  principality  of  Nassau-Siegen,  on  the  12th  of  December,  1740. 
He  was  at  first  a  physician  at  Elberfeld,  and  he  afterwards  studied 
political  economy  at  Lautern.  He  became  professor  of  agromony, 
&c,  at  Heidelberg,  and  in  1787,  he  was  appointed  professor  of  Po- 
litical Economy  at  Marburgh,  and  he  obtained  the  rank  of  Privy 
Counsellor  to  the  Elector  Palatine.  He  has  written  works  on  Politi- 
cal Economy  and  several  romances,  and  he  is  the  real  author  of  the 
Popular  Instructer,  a  very  successful  production  which  was  alleged 
to  have  been  written  by  Clodius.  Jung-Stilling  has  also  written  his 
own  life,  under  the  title  of  The  Private  Life  of  Henry  Stilling,  a 
True  History.  By  this  modification  of  his  name  he  is  now  usually 
distinguished. 

KLEIST,  (Ewald-Christian  Von,)  born  in  March,  1715,  at  Zeblin 
in  Pomerania,  and  died  in  1759,  in  consequence  of  the  wounds  he 
received  at  the  battle  of  Kunnensdorf.  Kleist,  who  was  descended 
from  a  noble  family,  was  an  officer  of  distinguished  courage  and  ta- 
lent, a  man  of  the  mildest  and  most  humane  dispesition,  and  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  poets  of  the  German  school  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  the  beauties  of  Nature, 
and  loved  to  contemplate  them  in  his  solitary  walks,  which  he  used 
to  call  hunting  poetic  images.  His  poem  on  Spring  is  one  of  the 
best  in  the  class  to  which  it  belongs.  It  has  been  repeatedly  transla- 
ted into  French  ;  first,  by  Huber,  in  his  Choix  de  Poésies  Allemandes, 
which,  however,  is  but  a  feeble  translation  ;  next  by  M.  Beguelin, 
at  Berlin,  1781,  in  8vo..and  lastly,  in  verse,  by  M.  Adrian  de  Sarra- 
zin.  Kleist  has  composed  odes,  songs,  idyls,  and  fables.  The  best 
editions  of  his  poems  are  those  published  at  Berlin,  1782,  in  8vo.  and 
at  Vienna,  1789,  in  8vo.  See  his  Life,  published  at  Berlin,  in  1760, 
by  his  friend  Nicolai,  and  translated  into  French  by  Huber,  in  the 
Journal  Etranger,  1761  ;  see  also  Lavater's  Physiognomical  Frag- 
ments,  &c. 

~-\ 

KLOPSTOCK,  (Friedrick-Gottlieb,)  born  July  2d,  1724,  at 
Quedlinburg,  and  died  at  Hamburgh,  March  14,  1803.  Klopstock, 
who  was  the  most  celebrated  of  the  German  poets  previous  to  the 
present  school,  was  the  author  of  the  Messiah,  and  of  some  lyric 
poems  and  tragedies,  among  which  his  Death  of  Adam  is  distinguish- 
ed. The  great  beauties  of  the  Messiah  are  a  sufficient  proof  of  his 
superior  genius,  though  the  want  of  action  very  much  diminishes  the 


336 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


interest  of  the  production.  Klopstock's  fine  odes  entitle  him  to 
rank  in  the  first  class  of  lyric  poets.  His  virtues  procured  him  the 
esteem  of  all  who  knew  him,  and  will  ever  be  remembered  with 
respect.  Goethe  has  described  without  exaggeration  the  ascendency 
which  he  exercised  over  his  fellow-countrymen.  The  object  of  his 
first  love  was  the  sister  of  his  friend  Schmidt,  a  young  lady  whom  he 
has  celebrated  under  the  name  of  Fanny.  His  wife,  whom  he  so 
tenderly  loved,  known  by  the  name  of  Meta,  and  whom  he  has  cele- 
brated under  that  of  Cidli,  was  a  Miss  Margaret  Moller,  of  Ham- 
burgh. He  published,  after  her  death,  several  works  written  by 
her,  consisting  of  Letters  from  the  Dead  to  the  Living,  a  tragedy  on 
the  Death  of  Abel,  &c,  under  the  title  of  Posthumous  Works  of 
Margaret  Klopstock.  Goëthe  is  mistaken  when  he  states  that 
Klopstock  did  not  marry  a  second  time,  which  is  a  singular  error  on 
the  part  of  a  contemporary  of  Klopstock.  At  the  age  of  sixty- 
seven,  Klopstock  formed  a  second  union  with  an  old  friend  of  his,  a 
widow  lady,  named  Johanna  Von  Winthem,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Dimpfel.  He  has  been  blamed  for  this  second  marriage,  though 
he  never  ceased  to  cherish  the  memory  of  his  first  wife,  by  whose 
side  he  was  interred,  according  to  his  desire.  There  are  several 
English  translations  of  the  Messiah.  The  ten  first  cantos  have  been 
translated  into  French  by  Anthelmy,  Yunker,  Petit-Pierre,  &c.  A 
complete  translation  of  the  poem  was  published  by  the  Caooness  of 
Kurzrock,  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  in  1801.  Klopstock's  Death  of  Adam 
has  been  translated  in  five  acts  in  prose,  by  J.  J.  Roman,  1762, 
in  8vo.  i 

KREBEL,  (Gottlieb  Friedrick,)  born  at  Naumburgon  the  Saale, 
June  30,  1729.  In  1771,  he  was  appointed  treasurer  of  the  great 
consistory  at  Dresden,  and  in  1777,  secretary  to  the  elector  of  Sax- 
ony. He  was  a  genealogist  and  a  geographer.  His  principal  works 
are  a  Genealogical  Manual  of  Europe,  and  a  collection  of  the  most 
successful  travels  made  in  this  quarter  of  the  world. 

KRUGER,  (John  Christian,)  bornât  Berlin,  of  poor  parents,  and 
died  at  Hamburgh  in  1750,  aged  twenty-eight  years.  He  distin- 
guished himself  both  as  an  actor  and  a  poet.  It  is  to  be  presumed 
that  he  would  have  contributed  materially  to  the  advancement  of 
the  German  drama,  if  his  labours  as  an  actor  and  a  translator  had  not 
interrupted  his  progress.  He  has  left  behind  him,  among  other 
works,  a  translation  of  the  Theatre  of  Marivaux,  and  a  collection  of 
poems  printed  at  Leipsic  in  1703. 

This  collection  contains  various  poems,  prologues,  and  particu- 
larly comedies  ;  of  which  the  principal  are,  The  Blind  Husband. 
The  Candidates,  and  Duke  Michael. 

LANGER,  (Karl  Henry,)  born  at  Breslau  in  Silesia,  August  24, 
1743.  He  was  originally  professor  of  the  law  of  nature  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Moscow,  which  situation  he  held  until  1774  ;  and  in  1781, 
he  was  appointed  librarian  at  Wolfenbiittel.  He  is  the  author  of  a 
Treatise  on  the  Principles  of  the  British  Constitution,  published  at 
liùbeck,  1763  ;  and  was  one  of  the  contributors  to  the  General  Ger- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


337 


man  Library.  He  travelled  in  Switzerland  at  different  periods  with 
the  hereditary  prince  of  Brunswick  and  his  hrother.  Langer  suc- 
ceeded Lessing  in  the  situation  of  librarian  at  Wolfenbiittel. 

LAVATER,  (John  Kaspar,)  born  at  Zurich,  November  15th, 
1741,  and  died  in  that  city,  January  2d,  1801,  after  suffering  fifteen 
months  from  the  effects  of  a  wound  he  had  received  from  a  French 
soldier  at  the  retaking  of  Zurich,  in  1799.  He  was  first  deacon  and 
afterwards  priest  of  the  church  of  St.  Peter  at  Zurich  ;  a  poet,  the- 
ologian, and  philosopher,  and  one  of  the  principal  chiefs  of  mystic 
doctrine  in  Germany.  He  has  rendered  himself  illustrious  by  his 
virtues,  his  talent?,  and  his  enthusiasm.  His  Swiss  songs  and  his 
canticles  have  established  his  reputation  as  a  poet.  He  has  written 
many  works  on  the  subject  of  religion.  Rotermund,  in  his  continua- 
tion of  Jcecher's  Dictionary,  gives  the  titles  of  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine  works  by  this  celebrated  man.  His  principal  religious  works 
are,  Pontius  Pilate,  4  vols,  octavo,  1782,  1785;  Jesus  the  Messiah, 
4  vols,  octavo  ;  Portable  Library,  24  vols,  duodecimo,  from  1790  to 
1792.  In  these  works  he  has  fully  developed  his  religious  doctrine. 
But  the  work  by  which  he  has  gained  the  greatest  degree  of  reputa- 
tion out  of  Germany,  is  that  entitled  Physiognomical  Essays,  4  vols, 
quarto,  in  German,  between  the  years  1775  and  1778.  Lavater's  work 
on  Physiognomy  has  been  translated  into  English  and  French.  M. 
Moreau  de  la  Sarthe  published,  from  1805  to  1809,  a  new  edition  of 
the  French  translation  corrected  and  augmented,  10  vols,  in  octavo 
and  quarto.  Lavater  was  the  object  of  a  literary  and  philosophical 
discussion  between  Mirabeau,  who  had  attacked  his  moral  character 
in  a  pamphlet,  and  Brissot,  who  defended  it  with  eloquence.  Ma- 
dame Roland,  whose  heroic  courage  and  superior  talents  have  immor- 
talized her  name,  in  an  interesting  account  of  a  journey  through 
Switzerland,  which  forms  a  part  of  her  posthumous  works,  professes 
high  veneration  for  Lavater,  whom  she  had  frequently  seen  at 
Zurich. 

There  is  an  interesting  work  relating  to  Lavater,  written  by  him- 
self, and  published  in  1800,  in  2  vols,  entitled,  Detailed  History  of 
my  Exile.  There  is  also  some  account  of  him  in  the  work  entitled 
John  Kaspar  Lavater,  by  Henry  Meister,  in  the  American  Almanac 
for  1802,  printed  at  Zurich,  and  The  Life,  of  J.K.  Lavater,  by  George 
Gessner,  his  son-in-law,  Zurich,  3  vols,  octavo,  in  German. 

LEISEWITZ,  (John  Anton,)  was  born  at  Hanover,  May  9th,  1752. 
He  studied  the  law  at  Gottingen,  where  he  lived  in  intimate  connex- 
ion with  Boie,  Burger,  Hoelty,  and  all  those  worshippers  of  the 
Muses  who  have  since  added  so  much  honour  to  their  country.  At 
Brunswick  he  successfully  performed  the  duties  of  privy  counsellor 
and  of  judge  from  1777  to  1801,  when  he  was  appointed  president 
of  the  College  of  Health.  He  gave  lessons  in  modern  history  to  the 
two  princes  of  Nassau-Orange,  as  well  as  to  the  princess  their  sis- 
ter, and  initiated  the  hereditary  prince  of  Brunswick  in  the  know- 
ledge of  the  constitution  and  the  affairs  of  his  country.  His  probity 
and  talent  gained  him  universal  esteem  in  his  different  offices.  Du- 
ring the  latter  years  of  his  life,  he  was  activelv  employed  in  prepa 


336 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


ring  a  plan  for  a  new  organization  of  the  benevolent  institutions  in 
the  dutchy  of  Brunswick.  This  plan,  which  was  admirably  conceiv- 
ed, was  printed  in  1804.  His  perseverance,  seconded  by  the  appro- 
bation of  the  prince  and  the  public,  overcame  every  difficulty,  and 
he  succeeded  in  executing  his  design,  the  happy  results  of  which  en- 
titled him  to  universal  gratitude.  On  his  death,  which  took  place 
on  the  10th  of  September,  1806,  a  great  number  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens voluntarily  accompanied  his  remains  to  the  place  of  interment. 

As  a  writer,  Leisewitz  has  left  behind  him  only  one  work,  a  trage- 
dy, Giulio  of  Tarento  ;  but  it  is  considered  one  of  the  chefs-d'œuvre 
of  the  German  Theatre.  The  subject,  which  has  been  treated,  but 
with  less  success,  by  Klinger,  under  the  title  of  The  Two  Twins,  is 
founded  on  the  hatred  of  the  two  sons  of  Cosmo,  first  grand-duke  of 
Tuscany,  the  murder  of  the  one  by  the  other,  and  the  punishment 
of  the  murderer  by  his  father  :  the  author  has  changed  the  names 
of  the  characters,  and  the  situation  of  the  scene.  Leisewitz  was 
the  friend  of  Lessing,  and  it  was  the  tragedy  of  Giulio  of  Tarento, 
printed  at  Leipsic  in  1776,  which  established  their  intimacy.  Les- 
sing happening  to  visit  a  library  in  company  with  Eschenburg,  in 
search  of  the  novelties  of  literature,  met  with  the  tragedy  and  was 
enchanted  with  it  ;  he  thought  it  was  by  Goethe.  Eschenburg  ex- 
pressed his  doubts  in  regard  to  that.  "  So  much  the  better,"  said 
Lessing,  "we  shall  have  another  genius  added  to  our  number,  and 
one  who  will  furnish  us  with  something  good."  Leisewitz  came  to 
Brunswick  ;  Eschenburg  introduced  him  to  Lessing,  and  the  two 
poets  became  friends.  Leisewitz  had  formed  the  design  of  writing 
a  history  of  the  thirty  years'  war,  and  had  composed  fragments  on 
the  subject  ;  but  unfortunately  his  occupations  interrupted  the  pro- 
gress of  his  work,  and  he  committed  to  the  flames  the  fragments 
he  had  written,  together  with  other  essays,  a  short  time  before  his 
death. 

LENZ,  (Jacob-Michel-Reinhold,)  born  at  Seszwegen  in  Livonia, 
January  12th,  1750.  His  father,  who  was  originally  a  clergyman  at 
that  place,  afterwards  held  the  office  of  member  of  the  consistory 
and  inspector  of  the  schools  of  Dorpat,  and  at  length  became  super- 
intendent-general of  the  government  of  Livonia  at  Riga.  Lenz  com- 
menced his  studies  at  Konigsberg  in  1769  ;  he  afterwards  went  to 
Berlin,  where  he  was  chosen  as  tutor  to  accompany  some  young  gen- 
tlemen to  Strasburg.  After  residing  a  long  time  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Rhine,  he  lost  his  reason  in  1778,  led  a  wandering  life, 
and  died  at  Moscow  on  the  24th  of  May,  1792,  aged  43  years. 

This  author's  character  has  been  so  well  drawn  by  Goethe  in  his 
Memoirs,  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  on  the  subject  here.  His 
taste  for  the  drama  was  only  that  of  an  enthusiastic  amateur,  and  it 
withdrew  his  attention  from  serious  and  useful  occupation.  This 
want  of  object  in  his  literary  labours  was  the  cause  of  his  misfor- 
tunes. He  had  to  struggle  incessantly  with  poverty,  and  was  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  living  on  benefactions,  without  however  losing 
any  portion  of  his  pride,  which  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to  increase 
with  his  misfortunes.  He  did  not  always  accept  what  was  offered 
him.  and  notwithstanding  the  extremity  of  his  situation,  he  took  of- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE*. 


fence  when  his  friends  attempted  to  do  him  a  service  without  his 
consent.  A  Russian  gentleman,  at  whose  house  he  had  long  resided, 
and  whose  generosity  he  had  experienced,  defrayed  the  expenses  of 
his  funeral. 

The  most  successful  of  Lenz's  writings  were,  the  piece  entitled 
The  Tutor ,  or  the  Advantages  of  Private  Education,  1774. — The  new 
Menoza,  a  comedy,  1774  ;  founded  on  a  Danish  romance  entitled 
Menoza,  of  which  there  was  previously  a  good  German  translation, 
and  of  which  Eric  Pontoppidan,  whom  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre  calls 
the  Fenelon  of  Norway,  furnished  the  subject  : — his  comedy,  enti- 
tled The  Soldiers,  and  his  remarks  on  the  drama,  with  a  translation 
of  Shakspeare's  Love's  Labour  Lost.  This  translation  is  the  best 
part  of  the  work,  which  is  written  in  a  laboured  style,  and  is  full  of 
ill-managed  attempts  at  humour. 

LICHTENBERG,  (George  Christopher,)  born  July  1,  1742,  at 
Ober-Ramstedt,  near  Darmstadt,  where  his  father  was  superintend- 
ent-general of  the  reformed  churches.  He  commenced  his  studies 
at  the  Gymnasium  of  his  native  town,  and  finished  them  at  Gottingen. 
An  accident  caused  in  his  infancy  by  the  negligence  of  a  servant, 
had  impeded  his  growth  and  enfeebled  his  constitution,  but  without 
affecting  his  natural  gayety  or  diminishing  his  taste  for  study.  ,  He 
evinced  an  early  and  singular  predilection  for  natural  philosophy,  as- 
tronomy, and  mathematics  ;  a  predilection,  however,  which  did  not 
prevent  his  inquisitive  mind,  distinguished  as  it  was  for  original  vi- 
vacity as  well  as  for  delicacy  of  perception,  from  cultivating  litera- 
ture with  equal  success.  After  his  appointment  to  the  professorship 
of  philosophy  at  Gottingen,  he  visited  England  on  two  separate  oc- 
casions, and  was  noticed  by  his  Majesty  George  III.  He  there  turn- 
ed his  attention  chiefly  to  the  arts  and  the  drama,  as  is  evident  from 
his  Explanations  of  the  Engravings  of  Hogarth,  and  his  Letters  on 
Garrick  and  the  English  Stage.  He  entered  into  the  married  state  at 
an  advanced  period  of  life,  and  spent  his  latter  years  in  the  enjoyment 
of  domestic  tranquillity  and  study.  He  died  February  24th,  1799, 
aged  fifty-seven  years. 

Lichtenberg  was  one  of  those  rare  geniuses,  who,  like  Pascal, 
could  unite  the  study  of  science  with  that  of  literature  and  the  arts. 
As  a  philosopher  he  was  characterized  by  the  penetration  and  just- 
ness of  his  views,the  sagacity  and  correctness  of  his  observations.  Na- 
tural philosophy,  chymistry,  astronomy,  and  mathematics  are  greatly 
indebted  to  his  labours.  Like  Fontenelle,  he  possessed  the  secret 
of  rendering  science  popular,  and  of  giving  a  clear  idea  of  it  in  his 
lectures,  which  were  distinguished  for  the  high  interest  which  he  at- 
tached to  them.  As  a  writer,  Lichtenberg  was  one  of  the  most  active 
and  original  thinkers  of  his  time.  Gifted  with  an  eminently  philo- 
sophic mind,  a  lover  of  all  that  is  excellent  in  literature  and  art,  and 
skilful  in  the  management  of  ironical  expression,  he  exposed  in  the 
most  lively  and  spirited  manner  all  the  exaggeration  and  absurdity 
which  shocked  his  reason.  Among  other  things,  he  ridiculed  the 
strange  affectation  of  sensibility  and  originality  with  which  an  unfor- 
tunate imitation  of  Shakspeare,  Klopstock,  and  Goethe  had  infected 
the  literature  of  Germany,  the  excesses  of  the  religious  zeal  and 


340 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


physioguomical  system  of  Lavaler,  and  the  prophecies  of  Ziehen  on 
the  misfortunes  with  which  Germany  was  threatened.  The  extreme 
merit  of  Lichtenberg's  writings  makes  it  much  to  be  regretted  that 
the  greater  part  of  them  are  only  fragments  of  unfinished  works. 

Lichtenberg's  most  celebrated  works  are,  his  Remarks  on  the 
Author's  Life,  and  on  the  Author  himself,  which  are  full  of  originality, 
acuteness,  and  depth  of  thinking  ; — his  Explanations  of  the  Engra- 
vings of  Hogarth,  of  which  he  completed  only  the  rive  first  numbers, 
but  which  form  a  commentary  worthy  of  the  text,  and  prove  the 
commentator  to  have  been  no  less  a  painter  than  the  artist  himself. 
His  vein  of  irony  and  humour,  the  delicacy  of  his  descriptive  pow- 
ers, and  the  brilliancy  of  his  colouring,  give  an  inexpressible  charm 
to  this  work.  The  only  fault  that  can  be  found  with  it,  consists  in  the 
profusion  of  witticisms  and  bons-mots  which  pervade  it,  and  the 
occasional  high  polish  which  destroys  the  point  of  the  humour.  Yet 
the  author  is  acknowledged  to  have  united  in  the  highest  degree,  next 
to  Lessing,  penetration  of  mind  and  purity  of  taste,  with  a  certainty 
of  principle  in  the  arts,  and  with  depth  as  well  as  extent  of  acquire- 
ments. Lichtenberg's  Laocoon  is  regarded  as  a  classic  work  in  Ger- 
many. 

His  Letter  from  the  Earth  to  the  Moon,  is  a  satire  full  of  the  most 
brilliant  wit  ;  but  the  author's  object  being  to  defend  a  literary  mis- 
cellany then  published  at  Gottingen,  the  interest  is  too  local  and  too 
much  dependent  on  particular  circumstances  to  permit  those  who  are 
ignorant  of  them  to  feel  all  the  force  of  the  wit. 

Lichtenberg's  works  have  been  published  in  9  vols.  8vo.  at  Gottin- 
gen, between  1800  and  1806  :  the  five  first  volumes  contain  his  lite- 
rary works,  and  the  four  last  his  scientific  works.  The  Explanation 
of  the  Engravings  of  Hugarth  has  been  published  separately  ;  a  French 
translation  of  it  appeared  at  Gottingen  in  1797,  entitled  Explication  dé- 
taillée des  Gravures  cT  Hogarth,  par  M.  G.  C.  Lichtertberg,  professeur 
de  Goeltingue,  ouvrage  traduit  de  /'  Allemand  en  Français,  par  M.Lumy. 
His  Essay  on  Physiognomy  has  also  been  translated  into  French. 

LESSING,  (Gotthold-Ephraim,)  was  born  at  Kamenz  in  Lusatia, 
in  January,  1729,  and  died  at  Wolfenbuttel,  February  15,  1781.  He 
was  the  real  founder  of  the  modern  German  language  and  literature, 
and  the  true  model  of  the  classic  style  in  Germany.  Lessing  was  at 
once  a  poet,  a  critic,  and  a  philosopher.  His  piece  entitled  Sarah 
Sampson,  a  tragedy  of  common  life,  was  an  experiment  of  a  new 
species  of  dramatic  composition  in  Germany.  Emilia  Galotti,  Minna 
of  Barnhelm,  and  Nathan  the  Wise,  productions  stamped  by  originality 
of  talent,  formed  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  the  drama  ;  these  works 
are  reckoned  among  the  best  of  the  German  theatre.  Lessing  excel- 
led equally  in  literary  criticism  and  in  that  of  the  fine  arts.  His 
Laocoon,  or  the  Limits  of  Poetry  and  Painting,  the  production  of  a 
profound  and  enlightened  genius,  and  in  which  the  principles  of  both 
arts  are  traced  out  by  the  hand  of  a  master,  was  considered  a  chef-d' 
œuvre  in  its  time,  and  is  still  regarded  as  an  excellent  work.  It  has 
been  translated  into  French  by  M.  Vanderberg.  Herder  has  pub- 
lished remarks  on  this  celebrated  work  which  may  be  considered  as 
having  corrected  and  completed  it. — The  Dramaturgie  of  Lessing, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


341 


directed  particularly  against  the  French  theatre  was  translated  by 
Mercier  and  Junker  in  1785.  Lessing's  other  celebrated  works  are  : 
— Fables  in  Prose,  with  a  Theory  of  the  Apologue,  translated  by  Dan 
telmy.  Paris,  1702,  12mo.  Boulard's  edition  with  the  text.  1799, 
8vo  ; — The  Life  of  Sophocles,  an  excellent  fragment  ; — Letters  on 
Literature^  1761-65  ; — Letters  on  the  Literature  of  the  Day  ; — Repre- 
sentations of  Death  among  the  Ancients; — Archiological  Letters,  in 
reply  to  Klotz,  who  had  attacked  the  Laocoon; — Essay  on  the  Manu- 
script of  Berenger,  Archdeacon  of  Angers,  found  in  the  library  of 
Wolfenbiittel,  and  containing  his  real  doctrine  on'  the  Eucharist  ; — 
Ernest  and  Falk,  an  apologetic  dialogue  in  favour  of  Freemasonry  ; — 
Historical  and  Literary  Memoirs,  compiled  from  the  library  of  Wol- 
fenbiittel ; — and  Fragments  by  an  Unknown  Writer,  a  work  containing 
objections  against  Christianity,  which  placed  the  author  in  a  very  un- 
pleasant situation.  Voss  published  at  Berlin  between  the  years  1771 
and  1794,  a  complete  collection  of  Lessing's  writings  in  30  vols  8vo. 
The  following  may  be  consulted  on  Lessing  and  his  works  :  a  criticism 
by  Herder,  inserted  in  the  German  Mercury,  and  in  the  second  volume 
of  the  Detached  Papers  ;  —  The  Life  of  Lessing,  by  his  brother; — 
and  a  Notice  in  the  third  volume  of  Joerden's  Dictionary  of  German 
Poets  and  Prose  Writers. 

LICHTWER,  (Magnus  Gottfried,)  born  at  Wurzen,  in  the  Circle 
of  Meissen,  in  the  electorate  of  Saxony,  on  the  30th  January,  1719  ; 
died  at  Halb*erstadt,  July  6th,  1783.  He  was  successively  Professor 
at  the.  University  of  Wittenberg,  Canon,  and  member  of  the  council 
to  the  Pvegency  of  the  town  of  Halberstadt.  His  Fables  have  esta- 
blished his  reputation,  and  in  that  style  of  composition  he  ranks  on 
a  level  with  Gellert  and  Lessing.  The  latest  edition  of  his  works 
was  published  by  himself  at  Berlin,  8vo.  L7G2.  AFrench  translation 
of  his  writings  was  published  at  Strasburg  in  1763,  in  8vo.  Lichtwer 
is  also  the  author  of  a  very  heavy  didactic  poem,  entitled  The  Law  of 
Reason  :  it  is  an  exposition  of  the  philosophy  of  Wolf.  An  imitation 
of  it  in  French  by  Madame  Faber,  appeared  at  Yverdun,  in  1777. 
Lichtwer  published  at  Berlin,  in  1763,  a  much  esteemed  translation 
of  Minucius  Felix,  with  some  very  judicious  remarks. 

LISKQW,  or  LISCOW,  (Christian  Ludwig,)  a  German  satirist, 
born  in  the  dutchy  of  Mecklenburg,  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century  ;  died  at  Eilenburg  in  Saxony,  October  SO,  1760,  in  a  prison, 
where  he  was  detained  for  debt.  His  Satires  were  printed  for  the 
first  time  at  Frankfort  in  1739,  under  the  title  of  Collection  of  Satiri- 
cal and  Serious  Essay*.  Muchler  published  a  second  edition  of 
them.  Liskow  excelled  in  irony,  and  he  wrote  with  a  purity  and  cor- 
rectness of  style  of  which  there  was  no  idea  in  Germany  before  his 
time. 

LOHENSTE1N,  (Daniel- Kasper  Von,)  born  January  25,  1635,  at 
Nimptsch,  a  small  town  in  the  principality  of  Brieg  in  Silesia.  He 
studied  at  Breslau  and  at  Leipsic  under  the  celebrated  Carpzovius,  and 
travelled  during  a  long  period  through  different  countries  of  Europe. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


He  married  in  1657  ;  was  appointed  a  member  of  the  Council  of  the 
Court  of  Wirtemberg-Oelsnich,  a  Member  of  the  Council  of  the 
Empire,  and  first  Syndic  of  the  town  of  Breslau  ;  where  he  died  in 
his  forty-ninth  year,  on  the  28th  April,  1683. 

The  Italian  poets  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  among  the  rest 
Mariai,  corrupted  the  taste  of  Lohenstein,  who,  though  endowed  with 
natural  talents  for  poetry,  corrupted  in  his  turn  the  taste  of  the  Ger- 
mans. Some  of  his  compositions  prove  that  he  might  have  equalled 
his  fellow-countryman  Opitz,  if  he  had  always  taken  him  for  his  model; 
but  bad  taste  perverted  his  talent,  and  following  the  footsteps  of  Hoff- 
mannswaldau,  he  became  thechief  of  a  school  whose  errors  retarded 
for  a  century  the  progress  of  German  literature.  Inflated  expres- 
sions, tedious  pathos,  and  trifling  affectation,  disfigure  nearly  all  his 
writings.  In  his  tragedies  he  took  for  his  models  Seneca  the  trage- 
dian, and  Andrew  Gryph,  who  had  first  assumed  the  sock  in  Germany, 
but  asMairet  and  Scudery  did  in  France  ;  yet  none  of  the  tragedies 
of  this  German  Thespis,  or  of  his  imitator,  can  be  compared  to  the 
Sophonisba  of  Mairet.  Lohenstein's  six  tragedies  are  entitled,  Ibra- 
him Bassa; — Agrippina,  (in  which  the  heroine,  in  a  scene  with  her 
son,  Nero,  endeavours  to  stimulate  his  desires  by  the  most  lascivious 
expressions  ;) — Epicharis  ; — Cleopatra; — Sophonisba;  and  Sultan 
Ibrahim.  This  last  piece  contains  more  than  thirty  characters.  The 
Sultan  dishonours  the  Muphti's  daughter,  for  whom  he  has  conceived 
a  passion  ;  she  destroys  herself  :  Ibrahim  is  deposed  in  an  insurrec- 
tion, he  is  imprisoned  and  puts  an  end  to  his  existence  fry  dashing  his 
head  in  despair  against  the  walls  of  his  prison. 

Lohenstein  has  also  composed  various  poems,  sacred  and  profane. 
The  most  esteemed  of  his  small  poems  is  addressed  to  Balthasar 
Frederick  de  Logau.  This  composition  is  quite  in  the  style  of  Opitz. 
There  are  also  several  prose  writings  by  Lohenstein;  among  others 
Arminius  and  Thusnelda,n  historical  romance,  in  the  style  of  the  Cal- 
prencde.  It  was  published  after  the  author's  death,  in  2  vols.  4to. 
Leipsic,  1689-90.  In  spite  of  its  bombast  and  all  the  other  defects 
of  style,  many  parts  of  it  are  distinguished  by  energy  and  talent. 

MENDELSSOHN,  (Moses,)  born  at  Dessau,  1729;  died  at  Ber- 
lin, January  4th,  1786.  He  was  a  philosopher  of  the  school  of 
Wolf  and  Baumgarten; — one  of  the  most  enlightened  literati,  and 
best  writers  of  Germany,  and  with  Lessing  powerfully  contributed  to 
the  progress  of  sound  criticism,  and  to  the  improvement  of  German 
prose.  If  he  has  not  profoundly  scrutinized,  as  Kant  did  after  him, 
the  exactness  of  philosophic  plans,  yet  sound  reason,  excellent  talent, 
and  a  good  disposition,  qualified  him  in  an  eminent  degree  for  the 
developement  and  the  defence  of  truths  essential  to  the  welfare  of 
man  and  of  society.  His  Treatise  on  Moral  Sentiments,  containing  a 
theory  of  the  line  arts,  translated  into  French,  by  Thomas  Abbf, 
Geneva,  1763;  Berlin,  1764;  his  Phœdon,  (three  dialogues  on  the 
immortality  of  the  Soul,)  1767,  translated  into  French,  by  Junker, 
Paris,  1772  ;  his  Dissenanon  on  Evidence  in  Metaphysics,  on  which 
the  Berlin  Academy  bestowed  their  prize  in  1763,  and  ordered  to  be 
translated  into  French,  and  printed  in  1764;  his  Jerusalem,  or  a 
Treatise  on  Religious  Pozver  and  Judaism,  Berlin,  1783  :  his  Letter 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


343 


to  Lavaier,  in  which,  with  equal  moderation,  sense,  and  spirit,  he 
decline?  either  opposing  or  embracing  Christianity,  Berlin  and  Stet- 
tin, 1770,  translated  into  French,  Frankfort,  1771,  under  the  title  of 
Jewish  Letters  from  the  celebrated  Moses  Mendelssohn  ;  and  his  Morn- 
ing  Hours,  or  Discourses  on  the  Existence  of  God,  Berlin,  1785  ; — 
are  all  so  many  lasting  testimonies  of  his  acquirements,  his"  talents, 
and  his  excellent  intentions.  Mirabeau,  who  has  written  in  praise 
of  this  philosopher,  and  of  his  work*  and  plans  in  favour  of  (he  Jews, 
an  essay  which  attracted  great  notice  at  the  time,  (London,  1787,) 
bestows  the  highest  praise  on  the  Jerusalem,  and  says  that  it  ought  to 
have  been  translated  into  all  the  languages  of  Europe.  The  mild  and 
beneficent  virtues  ot  Mendelssohn,  and  his  zeal  for  the  general  good 
and  for  the  reform  of  the  Jews,  were  fully  equal  to  his  talents.  His 
debates,  to  which  Goethe  alludes,  and  which  really  accelerated  the 
death  of  the  Jewish  philosopher  by  the  violent  emotion  and  the  labour 
to  which  they  excited  him,  were  occasioned  by  the  public  appeal 
which  Lavater  addressed  to  him,  to  refute  the  proofs  of  Bonnet  in 
favour  of  Christianity,  or  else  to  become  a  Christian.  Next  came  the 
accusation  of  Spinozism,  brought  against  Lessing  by  Frederick  Ja- 
cobi,  in  his  treatise  on  the  doctrine  of  Spinoza.  Mendelssohn  re- 
pelled the  accusation  in  a  Letter  to  the  Friends  of  Lessing  ;  but  his 
delicate  health  could  not  hold  out  against  the  too  violent  agitations 
which  these  discussions  excited. 

MERK,  (John  Henry,)  born  at  Darmstadt,  1742,  and  Member  of 
the  Council  of  War  in  that  town.  Merk  assisted  in  the  management 
of  several  journals,  and  particularly  in  that  of  The  German  Mercury. 
He  published  abridgments  of  several  works  of  Pallas,  and  of  Muller's 
compilation  for  the  History  of  Russia  ;  translated  Ossian's  Poems, 
Shaw's  Travels,  and  Hutchinson's  Treatise  on  the  Beautiful  ;  wrote 
several  essays  on  natural  history,  and  among  other  things,  three  letters 
[in  French]  on  the  Fossil  Bones  of  Elephants  and  Rhinoceroses 
found  in  Germany,  particularly  in  the  territory  of  Hesse-Darmstadt. 
He  also  wrote  a  description  of  the  principal  Gardens  in  the  Environs 
of  Darmstadt,  and  was  one  of  the  principal  coadjutors  of  the  German 
Encyclopaedia. 

MICHAELIS,  (John  David.)  a  celebrated  orientalist  and  protestant 
theologian,  born  at  Halle,  February  27,  1717,  and  died  August  22, 
1791.  He  was  professor  of  philosophy  at  Gottingen,  from  174.5  to 
1791;  secretary  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Sciences  in  the  same  city, 
from  1751  to  1756;  director  of  the  same  society  from  1767  to  1770; 
and  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Literary  Gazette  from  1753  to  1770.  He 
drew  up  the  questions  of  which  Niebuhr  resolved  a  part  in  hisTravels 
in  Arabia.  These  questions,  which  are  full  of  interest,  were  printed 
at  Frankfort  in  1762,  8vo.  and  have  been  translated  into  French.  It 
would  have  been  well  had  all  who  have  since  travelled  in  the  same 
countries  taken  them  into  consideration.  Michaelis's  grand  object,  to 
which  Goethe  alludes,  was  to  explain  the  obscure  passages  of  the  Bi- 
ble. Michaëlis  is  celebrated  both  as  a  philosopher,  and  a?  the  refor- 
mer of  the  Biblical  Exegesis,  (Criticism  on  the  Sacred  Books.)  He 
applied  to  these  two  departments  of  labour  immense  extent  of  acquire 


344 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


merits,  and  particularly  the  knowledge  of  the  languages,  history, 
and  manners  of  the  East.     His  chief  philosophic  works  are,  his 

Memoir  which  obtained  the  Prize  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Berlin 
772 1759.  On  the  Influence  of  Opinions  on  Language,  and  of  Language  on 
Opinions,  translated  into  French  by  Merian  and  Premonéval,  Bremen, 
1762,  4to  : — Philosophic  Morality,  2  vols.  8vo.  Gottingen,  1792; — 
Considerations  on  the  Doctrine  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  on  the  subject  of 
Sin  and  Atonement,  second  edition,  Gottingen  and  Bremen,  1779,  8vo. 
— On  the  Duty  of  speaking  Truth,  Gottingen,  1750,  8?o.  His  hest 
works  of  critical  theology  are,  The  Mosaic  Law,  6  vols.  Frankfort, 
second  edition,  1775  to  1 780,  a  highly  esteemed  Introduction  to  the 
Perusal  of  the  Books  of  the  New  Testament,  2  vols.  4to.  Gottingen. 
1787-88,  with  two  supplementary  volumes  in  English  by  Dr.  Marsh, 
translated  into  German  by  Rosenmiiller,  and  published  at  Gottingen, 
1795  and  1803  ; — Introduction  to  the  Perusal  of  the  Old  Testament,  1 
vol.  4to.  Gottingen,  1787,  containing  Job  and  the  Pentateuch  ; — 
Oriental  Library,  31  vols. — A  new  Translation  of  the  Old  Testament, 
13  vols.  4to.  1769-85;  and  another  of  the  New  Testament,  6  vols. 
4to.  1788-92,  both  with  notes  ;  — Elements  of  Dogmatic  Theology, 
8vo.  Gottingen,  1784.  The  reader  may  consult  the  notes  which 
Michaëlis  has  left  on  his  own  life,  printed  in  1793  at  Leipsic,  8vo. 
together  with  the  notices  of  Heyne  and  of  Eichhorn. 

MILLER,  (John-Martin,)  born  December  2d,  1750,  at  Ulm,  where 
his  father  was  Theologian  of  the  Cathedral,  and  Professor  of  the  Ori- 
ental Languages  to  the  Gymnasium  of  the  town.  J.  M.  Miller  filled 
the  same  line  of  situations  after  having  studied  at  Gottingen,  where 
his  love  of  poetry  and  literature  united  him  in  intimate  friendship 
with  Voss,  Hoëlty,  Leisewitz,  Boie,  Burger,  and  other  young  students 
associated  in  the  cultivation  of  the  Muses.  When  Klopstock  came 
to  Gottingen,  Miller  accompanied  him  on  his  departure  for  Hamburgh, 
where  he  became  acquainted  with  Claudius  (Mathias.)  He  returned 
to  Leipsic,  where  he  lived  six  months  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship 
with  Cramer.  (C.  Fr.)  In  1781  he  was  appointed  professor  of  the 
Law  of  Nature,  and  afterwards  of  the  Greek  language,  at  the  Gym- 
nasium of  Ulm.  He  was  appointed  Theologian  of  the  cathedral  in 
1783,  and  occupied  the  chair  of  Dogmatic  Theology  in  1797. 

Miller  has  acquired  high  reputation  as  a  preacher,  as  a  romance- 
writer  arid  as  a  poet.  His  romances,  though  they  paint  tender  pas- 
sion with  the  greatest  warmth,  breathe  only  the  purest,  the  most 
Platonir  love.  His  morality  is  sound,  his  motives  excellent,  and  the 
love  of  virtue  dictates  his  lessons.  His  style  is  agreeable  and  flow- 
ing ;  and  like  La  Fontaine,  his  rival  and  his  successor,  he  interests 
and  engages  his.  reader  by  the  nature  and  truth  of  his  details.  His 
Siegwart,  a  monastic  tale,  3  vols,  first  appeared  in  1776,  and  was  re- 
printed in  1777,  with  charming  engravings,  by  Chodowiecki  ; — 
Charles  of  Burgheim  and  Emily  of  Rosenau,  4  vols.  Leipsic,  1778-79; 
 Charles  and  Caroline,  (Vienna,  1783,)  and  several  other  compo- 
sitions of  the  same  kind,  produced  a  great  sensation  in  Germany. 
Miller's  defects  consist  in  a  too  tender  and  whining  sensibility,  pro- 
lixity, and  fatiguing  prodigality  of  minute  details.    Seigwart  has  twice 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES, 


345 


been  translated  into  French  ;  first,  anonymously,  Basle,  1783  ;  and 
afterwards  by  Delavaux,  Paris,  1785. 

Miller's  Poems,  published  at  Ulm,  1783,  consist  of  idyls,  elegies, 
songs,  and  compositions  of  different  kinds.  Though  they  cannot  be 
considered  as  models  of  perfection,  yet  they  are  by  no  means  defi- 
cient in  grace  and  simplicity.  His  sermons  teem  with  the  love  of 
virtue  and  enlightened  piety.  The  author  is  reckoned  among  the 
number  of  those  modern  writers  of  Germany,  who  have  done  honour 
to  their  country,  though  they  cannot  be  placed  in  the  first  rank. 

MOESER,  (Justus,)  born  at  Osnabruck,  December  14,  1720; 
died  January  8,  1794.  His  father  was  president  of  the  Consistory 
of  Osnabruck.  Moeser  distinguished  himself  as  a  lawyer.  He  was 
appointed,  in  1747  Advocate  of  the  town  ;  then  Secretary,  and 
afterwards  Syndic  of  the  order  of  Nobility.  Daring  the  whole 
of  his  life  he  rendered  the  most  signal  services  to  his  country,  which 
he  in  some  sort  governed  during  the  long  minority  of  the  prince. 
Moeser  was  therefore  really  a  man  of  business  and  a  statesman  ;  and 
his  patriotic  views  inspired  almost  all  his  writings.  Like  Cicero, 
Xenophon,  and  Franklin,  he  drew  a  great  part  of  the  materials  for 
his  works,  from  his  experience  of  the  world  and  of  business.  He  is 
compared  to  Franklin  by  his  fellow-countrymen  for  his  profound 
understanding  and  amiable  temper,  for  the  varied  forms  in  which  he 
clothed  his  ideas,  for  the  precision,  the  justness,  the  energy,  and  ori- 
ginality of  his  conceptions  and  his  style.  But  Moeser's  situation  in 
life,  and  his  habits  of  practical  administration  led  him  to  maintain 
doctrines,  such  as  his  apology  for  slavery,  and  his  natural  classifica- 
tion of  society  by  orders  and  conditions,  which,  as  far  as  regards 
sound  philosophy,  and  rectitude  of  sentiment  and  thought,  leave  him 
far  behind  the  American  legislator. 

j3  History  of  Osnabruck,  1765  80,  2  vols.  8vo. — Patriotic  Reveries, 
1775  6,  third  edition,  4  vols.  8vo.  Berlin,  1804  ; — and  Miscellanies, 
2  vols.  8vo.  Berlin  and  Stettin,  1797-8,  are  the  works  which  have 
ranked  Moeser  among  the  best  writers  of  Germany.  In  the  Miscel- 
lanies are  contained  a  fragment,  entitled  Harlequin,  or  a  Defence  of 
Grotesque  Comedy,  Hamburgh,  1761,  in  which  the  grave  author 
maintains  his  argument  with  great  spirit  and  gayety  ;  and  a  Letter  to 
J.  J.  Rousseau's  Savoyard  Vicar,  1785,  the  object  of  which  is  to  dis- 
prove that  natural  religion  is  sufficient  for  a  great  society  ;  a  doctrine 
which  the  author  developes  with  a  great  deal  of  skill.  The  interest- 
ing observations  of  Thomas  Abbt  on  this  work,  {Letters  on  Modern 
Literature,  23  vols,  one  hundred  and  twenty-seventh  Letter,  page  13 
to  36,)  deserve  to  be  perused. — Letter  to  M.  de  Voltaire  on  the  Cha- 
racter of  Martin  Luther,  and  on  his  Reformation,  published  in  French 
by  the  author.  In  this  work  Moeser  attempted  to  imitate  Voltaire's 
style  ;  but  though  he  has  not  succeeded  in  that  respect,  the  essay  is 
not  the  less  well  conceived,  and  forms  a  very  good  defence  of 
the  work  of  the  German  reformer  against  the  sarcasms  of  his  cele- 
brated adversary  ; — a  fragment  on  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, 1781,  the  shortest  and  best  of  the  defences  published  at  that  time 
in  reply  to  the  well-known  letter  of  Frederick  the  Great,  which 
appeared  at  the  close  of  1780,  entitled.  On  German  Literature,  the 

X, 


346 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


defects  with  which  it  may  be  charged,  the  causes  of  those  defects,  and 
the  means  of  correcting  them.  Moeser  has  also  left  behind  him  some 
fragments  of  a  work  entitled  Anti-Candide ,  and  intended  as  a  refuta- 
tion of  Voltaire's  romance. 

MORGENSTERN,  (John-Lucas,)  a  battle-painter  at  Frankfort  on 
the  Maine,  remarkable  for  the  perfection  of  his  drawing  and  colour- 
ing. As  invention  was  not  his  forte,  he  trusted  to  his  friends  for  the 
designs  of  his  compositions.  The  connoisseurs  compare  him  to 
Steen  Wyk.  His  oil-paintings  resemble  enamel  from  their  neatness 
and  polish  ;  and  the  delicacy  of  his  touch  is  unequalled. 

MORHOF,  (Daniel-George,)  born  Feb.  6,  1639,  at  Wismar,  in 
Mecklenburg  ;  died  July  30,  1691,  on  his  return  from  Pyrmont  to 
Lubeck.  Morhof  was  a  profound  scholar.  He  was  appointed  Pro- 
fessor of  Poetry  at  Rostock,  in  1660  ;  in  1665,  Professor  of  Poetry 
and  Eloquence  at  Kiel,  and  afterward  Librarian  and  Professor  of  His- 
tory in  the  same  city.  There  are  a  great  number  of  his  works, 
which  display  more  learning  than  method  ;  that  to  which  Goethe  al- 
ludes is  entitled  Polyhistor,  sive  de  Notitia  Auctorum  et  Rerum,  of 
which  the  best  edition  is  that  of  Lubeck,  1732,  2  vols.  4to.  One  of 
the  most  singular  of  Morhof's  works  is  that  which  he  published  in 
1665,  in  4to.  under  the  title  of  Princeps  Medicus.  It  is  a  disserta- 
tion on  the  power  attributed  to  the  kings  of  France  and  England  of 
curing  the  Scrofula.  Our  learned  author  believes  in  this  privelege, 
and  maintains  that  it  cannot  be  exercised  but  by  means  of  a  miracle. 

There  are  also  some  German  poems  by  Morhof,  in  which  some 
straggling  beauties  are  discoverable,  and  which  prove  that  this  con- 
temporary of  Opitz  was  no  stranger  to  the  feeling  for  true  poetry. 
A  book  which  he  published  also  in  German,  under  the  title  of  Histo- 
rical and  Critical  Information  on  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
Kiel,  1682,  shows  a  thinking  mind,  and  extensive  erudition,  and  an 
ardent  zeal  for  the  literary  glory  of  Germany.  This  work  developes 
more  enlightened  and  useful  views  than  the  laterwritings  ofGottsched; 
and  perhaps  even  more  than  those  of  Bodmer  and  Breitinger. 

MOR1TZ,  (Carl-Philip,)  born  September  15,  1757,  at  Hameln  ; 
died  June  26, 1793,  at  Berlin,  aged  26  years.  He  learnt  the  trade  of 
a  hatter  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  did  not  commence  his  studies  at 
Hanover  till  he  had  attained  his  fourteenth  year,  after  which  he  con- 
tinued them  at  Erfurt,  Leipsic,  and  Wittenberg  ;  but  he  could  never 
complete  them  to  his  satisfaction.  He  struggled  for  a  long  time  with 
poverty.  In  1780,  he  obtained  the  situation  of  assistant  rector  in  a 
school  at  Berlin.  In  1782,  he  travelled  to  England,  returned  after- 
ward to  Berlin,  and  was  appointed  extraordinary  professor  in  a 
Gymnasium.  He  abandoned  that  place  in  1786,  to  make  a  journey 
into  Italy,  where  he  became  acquainted  with  Goethe,  with  whom  he 
remained  a  long  time  at  Weimar.  After  his  return  from  Italy,  in 
December  1788,  he  was  appointed  professor  of  ^Esthetics  and  An- 
tiquities to  the  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  at  Berlin  ;  in  1789  and  1791, 
a  member  of  the  council  of  the  court,  a  member  of  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  and  Belles  Lettres,  and  Professor  of  Style  and  National 
Literature  to  the  school  of  artillery. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


347 


Moritz  was  endowed  with  eminent  mental  faculties,  and  with  a  rare 
degree  of  penetration  and  sagacity.  More  profound  study,  greater 
extent  of  acquirements,  and  a  longer  life,  were  only  wanting  to  place 
him  in  the  very  first  rank.  There  is  perhaps  no  example  of  literary 
activity  equal  to  that  of  Moritz  ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  how 
a  man,  who  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  could  have  found  time  to 
write  so  great  a  number  of  works  of  such  different  kinds.  He  may 
rank  among  those  literati  of  Germany, of  whom  it  was  sarcastically  said, 
that  they  were  never  content  unless  they  had  laboured  twenty-five 
hours  a  day.  His  style,  it  is  true,  sometimes  savours  of  the  rapidity 
of  his  compositions,  but  notwithstanding  this  rapidity,  which  often 
led  him  to  hazard  imperfectly  digested  ideas,  his  thoughts  were, 
nevertheless,  clear  and  original  :  and  if  he  was  not  one  of  the  great- 
est writers,  he  possessed  one  of  the  best  regulated  minds  in  Germany. 
He  has  written  works  on  Education,  Poems,  Comedies,  Romances. 
Essays  on  Freemasonry,  on  Mythology,  on  the  Arts  and  Monuments 
of  Antiquity  /.Travels  in  England  and  Italy,  and  a  work  on  Experimental 
Philosophy.  He  zealously  co-operated  in  periodical  publications, 
which  he  supplied  with  excellent  articles,  among  the  rest  a  Descrip- 
tion of  Rome  and  its  monuments,  written  during  his  travels  in  Italy. 
But  his  best  works  are  thote  on  the  study  of  the  German  Language 
and  Prosody.  Here  he  was  both  a  creator  and  a  legislator  ;  and 
Goethe  has  rendered  full  justice  to  his  merits  in  this  particular.  His 
romance  of  Anton  Reiser,  Berlin,  4  vols.  1785 — 1790,  and  particu- 
larly the  fifth  part,  published  after  the  death  of  the  author,  by  his 
friend  Klischnig,  contains  some  curious  details  on  the  life  of  Moritz. 
His  work  entitled  Av6ovt»,  or  the  Antiquities  of  Rome  and  the  Religious 
Customs  of  the  Romans,  is  much  esteemed.  It  was  published  at  Ber- 
lin in  8vo.  1791  and  1797. 

MORUS,  (Samuel  Frederick  Nathaniel,)  born  at  Laubau  in  1736. 
He  was  a  celebrated  philologist,  and  he  published  some  highly  es- 
teemed editions  of  several  classical  authors,  with  commentaries. 
Morus  was  successively  professor  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages 
at  the  University  of  Leipsic; 

MOSER,  (Frederick  Charles  Baron  Von,)  born  at  Stuttgard  in 
1723.  He  was  one  of  the  privy  counsellors  of  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Hesse-Darmstadt,  and  president  of  the  council  at  Darmstadt. 
He  was  a  writer  on  politics  and  religion,  a  historian  and  a  poet. 
His  poem  on  Daniel  in  the  Lion's  Den,  which  is  mentioned  by 
Goethe,  appeared  at  Frankfort  and  Leipsic  in  1763.  Moser  pub- 
lished a  collection  of  fables  with  engravings,  at  Manheim,  in  1786, 
and  a  second  collection  in  the  same  city  in  1789. 

NICOLAI,  (Christopher  Frederick,)  one  of  the  writers  who  have 
most  materially  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  literal  taste  in 
Germany.  He  was  born  at  Berlin  on  the  18th  of  March.  1733. 
His  father  was  a  bookseller,  and  Nicolai  was  intended  to  foliow  the 
same  business,  but  his  favourite  pursuit  was  the  study  of  literature. 
Amidst  the  literary  disputes  that  arose  between  the  school  of  Gotts- 
ched  and  the  disciples  of  Bodmer  and  Breitinger,  Nicolai,  with 
Lessing  and  Mendelssohn,  formed  an  independent  triumvirate,  solely 


348 


BlOftilAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


animated  by  correct  taste  and  the  desire  of  advancing  German  lite- 
rature. After  the  death  of  his  father  and  elder  brother,  the  neces- 
sity of  managing  an  extensive  bookseller's  business  did  not  induce 
him  to  relinquish  his  literary  studies.  His  indefatigable  activity  en- 
abled him  to  find  time  for  all.  From  1757  to  1760,  he  conducted, 
conjointly  with  Mendelssohn,  a  periodical  work,  entitled,  The  Libra- 
ry of  Polite  Literature.  In  the  year  1759,  its  title  was  changed  to 
that  of  Letters  on  Modern  Literature,  and  it  was  managed  by  Nicolai, 
Mendelssohn,  and  Lessing,  aided  by"Abbt,  Resewitz  and  Grillo. 
These  were  really  the  first  periodical  publications,  which  by  a  pro- 
found theory  of  literature,  and  a  solid  and  impartial  tone  of  criticism, 
diffused  in  Germany  a  knowledge  of  the  true  principles  of  every 
style  of  literary  composition,  imparted  a  new  impulse  to  talent,  and 
prepared  the  revolution  which  was  soon  after  effected  on  the  Ger- 
manic Parnassus.  Nicolai  continued  his  labours  in  this  way  in  the 
General  German  Library,  which  he  conducted  at  Berlin  and  Stettin, 
from  1765  to  1792,  and  in  the  New  General  German  Library,  which 
he  edited  from  1800  to  1805.  By  means  of  these  two  last 
publications  he  succeeded  in  establishing  a  useful  interchange  of  lite- 
rary communications  in  all  parts  of  Germany.  Always  ready  to  as- 
sail works  which  exhibited  traces  of  false  taste  or  absurd  extrava- 
gance, he  frequently  entered  the  lists  with  adversaries  with  whom 
he  was  not  able  to  cope  ;  as,  for  example,  Lavater,  Herder,  Goethe, 
Kant,  &c.  ;  but  though  Nicolai  occasionally  engaged  in  enterprises 
beyond  his  powers,  yet  his  real  talents,  the  purity  of  his  intentions, 
and  the  services  he  rendered  to  German  literature,  cannot  be  de- 
nied. Among  Nicolai's  romances,  the  most  celebrated  is  the  Life 
and  Opinions  of  Sebaldus  Nothanker,  (Berlin  and  Stettin,  1799,)  a 
French  translation  of  which  appeared  in  London  in  1774  and  1777. 
It  has  also  been  translated  into  English.  This  work,  which  attack- 
ed the  spirit  of  intolerance  and  persecution,  was  exceedingly  popu- 
lar. Nicolai  is  also  the  author  of  a  work  On  the  Templars,  their  se- 
crets, and  the  or  igi?i  of  Fr:smasonry,  which  has  also  been  translated 
into  French. — Travels  in  Germany  and  Sxaitzer land,  12  vols.  1783, 
1796. — Curious  Anecdotes  of  Frederick  the  Great,  and  some  of  the  in- 
dividuals about  him. — The  Life  of  Emald  Kleist,  which  was  the  first 
interesting  account  of  that  distinguished  man  that  had  appeared  in 
Germany,  1760.  Nicolai  is  also  the  author  of  the  lives  of  Thomas 
Abbt  and  Justus  Mbeser,  and  many  other  works.  He  furnished  Mira- 
beau with  materials  for  his  work  on  the  Prussian  monarchy. 

OESER,  (Adam  Frederick,)  a  distinguished  painter,  modeller, 
and  engraver,  born  at  Presburg  in  1717,  and  died  at  Leipsic  on  the 
18th  of  March,  1799.  He  was  the  friend  of  Winckelmann,  to  whom 
he  rendered  assistance  in  his  early  study  of  ancient  art.  He  was 
successively  a  professor  of  the  new  academy  of  the  fine  arts  at 
Dresden,  and  governor  of  the  academy  of  the  arts  at  Leipsic.  His 
numerous  valuable  productions  had  a  great  influence  in  improving 
the  arts  he  professed.  His  most  remarkable  works  are  the  paintings 
on  the  ceiling  of  the  new  theatre  of  Dresden  ;  his  pictures  which 
adorn  the  new  church  of  St.  Nicholas  ;  his  picture  of  the  Witch  of 
Endor,  which  consists  of  four  figures,  and  is  remarkable  for  its  ex- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


349 


celient  composition  and  warmth  of  colouring  ;  his  statue  of  the  Elec- 
tor of  Saxony,  above  the  gate  of  St.  Peter,  at  Leipsic  ;  the  tomb  of 
Queen  Matilda  of  Denmark,  erected  in  the  gardens  of  Zelle,  and 
above  all,  the  small  monument  erected  in  memory  of  Gellert  in  the 
garden  of  Wendler  the  bookseller,  at  Leipsic.  His  drawings  are 
much  esteemed  ;  and  his  engravings  and  etchings  are  executed  with 
admirable  delicacy  and  taste.  Oeser  is  much  celebrated  for  his  illus- 
trations of  books. 

OPITZ,  (Martin,)  was  born  on  the  23d  of  December,  1597,  at 
Bunzlau  in  Silesia.  He  was  the  father  and  restorer  of  German 
poetry.  Sound  taste,  aided  by  excellent  study,  enabled  him  at  an 
early  age  to  ennoble  his  native  language,  by  rendering  it  the  medium 
of  his  poetic  effusions.  The  want  of  protection  and  the  miseries  of 
war  drove  him  to  a  wandering  course  of  life.  He  successively  tra- 
velled to  Holland  and  Holstein,  was  patronised  by  the  famous  Beth- 
lem  Gabor,  and  he  resided  at  Lugnitz  with  the  duke.  He  next  visit- 
ed Vienna,  where  the  Emperor  Francis  II.  created  him  poet  laure- 
ate ;  and  he  afterwards  proceeded  to  Thorn,  Dantzic,  Wittenberg, 
and  Dresden.  He  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  nobleman  by  the  Em- 
peror under  the  title  of  Opitz  of  Boberfeldt,  and  was  appointed  se- 
cretary to  the  Burggrave  of  Dohna,  in  which  capacity  he  went  to 
Paris,  where  he  remained  from  1630  to  1631.  At  Leyden  he  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  celebrated  Daniel  Heinsius.  During  his 
visit  to  Paris,  he  was  a  favourite  with  Grotius,  whose  house  was  the 
resort  of  the  most  distinguished  persons  then  in  the  French  capital. 
Here  he  formed  an  acquaintance  with  Claude  de  Saumaise,  Nicolas 
Rigaltius,  Hottoman,  De  Thou,&c.  Ladislaus  IV.  King  of  Poland, 
having  seen  him  at  Dantzic,  appointed  him  his  secretary  and  histo- 
riographer. Beloved  and  esteemed  as  he  was  for  his  talents  and 
virtues,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  he  would  have  enjoyed  a 
long  and  an  honourable  career  ;  but  he  was  attacked  by  the  plague 
which  broke  out  at  Dantzic,  and  he  died  suddenly  on  the  20th  of  Au- 
gust, 1639,  at  the  age  of  forty-two.  He  had  been  engaged  for  the 
space  of  sixteen  years,  on  a  large  work,  entitled,  Dacia  Antigua, 
from  which  he  expected  to  gain  the  highest  glory.  His  manuscript 
was  lost,  and  his  books  dispersed.  His  poems  have,  however,  im- 
mortalized him. 

The  works  of  Opitz  do  not  display  the  creative  genius,  the  divine 
inspiration,  the  fertile  and  brilliant  imagination  of  a  Homer,  a  Tasso, 
or  a  Milton.  Even  his  odes  are  deficient  in  warmth  and  enthusiasm  ; 
but  he  was  endowed  with  excellent  judgment  and  pure  taste.  He 
was  the  first  who  applied  the  German  language  to  poetic  harmony, 
and  raised  it  to  a  dignified  and  fixed  character.  Opitz  is  always  natu- 
ral. His  style,  though  occasionally  somewhat  rude,  is  energetic  ; 
and  many  of  his  writings  exhibit  a  degree  of  correctness  and  ele- 
gance, of  which  before  his  time  the  Germans  had  no  idea.  He  was 
the  first  who  understood  and  applied  to  the  German  language  the 
prosody  of  which  he  found  it  to  be  susceptible,  and  the  rules  of 
which  he  explained  in  his  Essay  on  German  Poetry,  a  very  remark- 
able work  for  the  period  at  which  it  was  written.  His  opera  of 
Daphne  was  the  first  ever  written  in  the  German  language  ;  it  was 


350 


1SIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


set  to  music  by  Schutz,  and  was  represented  at  the  court  of  Saxony, 
in  1627,  in  presence  of  the  Landgrave  and  Landgravine  of  Hesse. 
He  also  wrote  another  Opera  called  Judith.  Opitz  composed  odes, 
epigrams,  cantatas,  sacred  and  didactic  poems,  &c.  His  poems  en- 
titled Vesuvius  and  Zlatna,  or  Peace  of  Mind,  his  Consolations  amidst 
the  calamities  of  War,  his  Eulogium  of  Mars,  and  his  Cantata  to  the 
King  of  Poland,  are  among  his  most  admired  compositions,  and  pos- 
sess beauties  which  will  ever  be  esteemed.  In  order  to  form  a  just 
estimate  of  the  merits  of  Opitz,  it  must  be  borne,  in  mind  that  he  had 
neither  model  nor  competitor,  and  that  he  himself  created  all,  even 
the  prosody  of  his  language. 

ORTH,  (John  Philip,)  was  born  at  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  in 
1698,  and  died  in  March  1783.  He  is  the  author  of  several  works 
on  law  subjects. 

PARACELSUS  BOMBAST  VON  HOHENHEIM,  (Aurelius 
Philip  Theophrastus,)  was  born  in  1493,  at  Einsiedlen,  a  little  lown 
not  far  from  Zurich,  and  died  at  Salzburgh  on  the  24th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1541.  His  father  was  the  natural  son  of  a  grand  master  of  the 
Teutonic  Order.  Paracelsus  received  an  excellent  education,  and 
in  a  short  time  made  great  progress  in  the  study  of  medicine.  After 
travelling  over  nearly  the  whole  of  Europe,  he  returned  to  Basle, 
where  he  taught  chymistry.  He  opposed  the  theories  of  Hippo- 
crates and  Galen,  and  constantly  manifested  the  most  absurd  vanity 
and  charlatanism.  Science  was,  however,  materially  indebted  to  his 
exertions.  He  made  great  improvements  in  chymistry,  and  in  spite 
of  the  absurdity  and  obscurity  which  have  thrown  discredit  on  his 
labours,  he  nevertheless  effected  many  important  objects.  He  pre- 
tended to  have  discovered  the  secret  of  making  gold,  and  of  pro- 
longing human  life  for  the  space  of  centurie?  ;  of  this,  however,  he 
did  not  avail  himself  for  his  own  advantage,  since  he  died  at  the  age 
of  forty-seven.  The  best  edition  of  the  works  of  Paracelsus  is  that 
published  at  Geneva,  1658,  3  vols,  folio. 

PFEIL,  (John  Gebhurd,  or  John  Gottlieb  Benjamin,)  born  at 
Freiberg  in  Saxony,  in  1732.  He  wrote  in  Latin  A  Commentary  on 
the  Origin  of  the  Criminal  Laws,  1768.  He  is  also  the  author  of  the 
following  works  in  German  :  The  History  of  Count  Von  P — ,  of 
which  five  editions  have  been  published  ;  the  first  appeared  in  1755. 
• — Moral  Tales. — Lucy  Woodville,  a  domestic  tragedy. — The  Fortunate 
Island,  a  Supplement  to  the  New  Discoveries  of  Captain  Cook  in  the 
South  Seas,  extracted  from  the  Journal  of  a  Traveller,  Leipsic,  1781. 
— A  Discourse  on  the  means  of  preventing  Infanticide  without  favour* 
ing  Immorality.    This  last  work  obtained  a  prize  at  Manheim. 

RABENER,  (Gottlieb  William,)  was  born  on  the  17th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1714,  at  Wachau,  near  Leipsic,  and  died  at  Dresden  on  the  22d 
of  March,  1771.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Council  of  Taxation  at 
Dres  ien.  His  whole  life  was  devoted  to  various  employments  in 
this  department  of  the  public  service  ;  and  in  the  exercise  of  his 
duties,  he  invariably  distinguished  himself  for  talent,  probity,  and  an 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


351 


ardent  desire  to  conciliate  his  functions  with  the  happiness  of  his 
countrymen. 

Amidst  his  official  occupations  he  found  leisure  for  the  study  of  li- 
terature, and  was  celebrated  for  hi?  eminent  poetic  talent.  He  was 
the  friend  of  Gellert  and  Weisse  ;  like  them  was  stimulated  by  the 
example  of  Hagedorn  and  Haller,  and  like  them  he  contributed  to  the 
improvement  of  taste  at  that  period  of  German  literature.  The 
excellent  qualities  of  his  heart  and  his  cheerful  temper,  which  never 
for  a  moment  forsook  him,  even  when  his  house  and  property  were 
destroyed  in  the  bombardment  of  Dresden  by  the  Prussians,  endeared 
him  to  his  friends,  and  rendered  him  an  object  of  general  esteem. 
Hn  satires  are  very  celebrated.  The^  do  not  indeed  assail  medio- 
crity and  folty  with  the  wit  and  seventy  of  Juvenal,  or  the  caustic 
spirit  of  Boileau  :  they  are  rather  pictures  of  manners  and  charac- 
ter, in  which  absurdity  is  developed  in  a  tone  of  delicate  irony,  ex- 
empt from  personality,  as  in  the  writings  of  Theophrastus,  La  Bruy- 
ère, Addison,  Steel,  and  Duclos.  There  is,  indeed,  frequently  more 
of  harshness  and  bitterness  in  the  sarcasms  of  La  Bruyère,  than  in 
the  half-blunted  darts  of  the  German  poet.  As  Goethe  and  other 
German  critics  justly  observe,  Rabener  could  only  direct  his  attacks 
against  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  middle  ranks  of  society.  The 
abundant  harvest  which  the  failings  of  the  upper  classes  would  have 
presented,  was  to  hi  n  forbidden  fruit.  A  degree  of  reserve  was 
imposed  upon  him  by  the  situation  he  held,as  well  as  by  the  spirit  of  the 
period  in  which  he  lived  For  purity  and  conciseness  of  style,  Rabe 
ner  is  ranked  among  the  best  writers  of  his  age.  He  co-operated  in 
the  management  of  two  periodical  publications,  the  one  entitled 
Amusements  of  Reason  and  Wit,  and  the  other,  The  Bremen  Miscellany, 
These  works,  to  which  Gaertner,  J.  A.  Cramer,  J.  Adolphus  Schle- 
gel,  C.  A.  Smidt,  Ebert,  Zacharia,  J.  Elias  Schlegel,  My  litis,  Giseke, 
Gellert,  Klopstock,  &c.  contributed,  exercised  a  beneficial  influence 
on  German  literature,  before  Wieland,  Lessing,  and  Mendelssohn 
wielded  the  sceptre  of  criticism. 

The  first  edition  of  Rabener's  satires  appeared  at  Leipsic  in  1751. 
Tue  last  edition  of  his  works  was  published,  with  a  life  of  the  author 
at  Leipsic  in  1777.  There  are  several  French  translations  of  them, 
among  others  one  entitled  Melanges  amusans,  récréatifs,  et  satiriquest 
de  literature  Allemande,  traduite  librement  de  M.  Rabener,  4  vols. 
Paris,  1776,  in  12mo. 

RAMLER,  (Charles  William,)  was  born  at  Colberç  on  the  25tb  of 
February,  1725,  and  died  at  Berlin  on  the  11th  of  April,  i  798,  at  the 
age  of  seventy-four  From  the  yen-  1748  he  was  Professor  of 
Logic  and  Polite  Literature  at  the  Cadet  College  of  Berlin.  He  was 
the  friend  of  Kleist,  Spalding,  Sulzer,  and  Lessing,  and  with  the  lat- 
ter contributed  to  raise  the  fame  of  his  native  country,  by  his  two- 
fold talent  as  a  poet  and  a  critic.  Ramier  is  chiefly  celebrated  for 
his  lyric  poems.  He  was  inspired  at  once  by  the  genius  of  antiquity 
and  the  spirit  of  patriotism,  and  his  effusions,  like  those  of  Pindar 
and  Horace,  are  full  of  harmony,  purity,  and  taste.  Ramler's  claim 
to  the  title  of  a  poet  has  been  disputed  by  a  party,  who,  overstepping 


352 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


the  intentions  of  their  leaders,  refused  to  acknowledge  the  existence 
of  genius,  unless  accompanied  by  that  fire  of  imagination,  which  too 
frequently  bursts  forth  in  mere  raving,  and  which,  in  its  thirst  after 
originality,  often  piunges  into  the  abyss  of  whimsicality  and  extrava- 
gance. But  sound  criticism,  even  in  Germany,  has  acknowledged 
Ramier  to  be  not  a  feeble  imitator,  but  a  worthy  rival,  of  the  bard  of 
Tibur,  at  least  in  his  early  compositions  and  in  his  translation  of  fif- 
teen odes  of  the  Roman  lyric  poet.  -As  a  critic,  Ramier,  by  his  cor- 
rect judgment  and  taste,  contributed  materially  to  improve  the  lite- 
rature of  Germany.  The  Aristaichus,  to  whom  a  writer  such  as 
Lessing  made  it  a  rule  to  submit  all  his  works,  and  whose  advice  he 
often  thought  himself  happy  in  adopting,  certainly  deserves  to  main- 
tain a  high  rank  among  the  Professors  of  the  Theory  of  Polite  Lite- 
rature. The  reproach  which  has  generally  been  applied  to  Ramier, 
and  in  which  Goethe  has  joined,  of  having,  without  special  permis- 
sion, subjected  to  his  rod  several  living  writers,  whose  works  he  un- 
dertook to  correct,  is,  however,  founded  in  truth.  The  right  of 
searching  for  gold  in  a  dunghill  does  not  imply  that  of  polishing  with- 
out the  owner's  consent,  the  work  of  an  esteemed  artist.  The 
public  wish  to  recognise  an  author,  whom  they  have  once  accepted, 
with  the  merits  and  defects  that  really  belong  to  him. 

Goëkingk,  the  friend  of  Ramier,  published  an  edition  of  his  poems 
in  two  volumes.  A  French  translation  of  most  of  his  compositions 
has  been  published  by  M  Cacault,  under  the  title  of  Poésies  Lyriques 
de  M.  Ramier,  traduites  de  l'Allemand. 

SACHS,  (Hans.)  A  shoemaker  of  Nuremberg.  He  was  perhaps 
the  most  prolific  poet  that  ever  lived.  In  1567,  nine  years  before 
his  death,  he  himself  estimated  the  number  of  his  compositions  at 
6048.  He  published  a  selection  of  his  works  in  1548.  The  second 
edition  appeared  between  the  years  1570  and  1579,  and  a  third  edi- 
tion was  published  between  1612  and  1616.  These  old  editions,  of 
which  scarcely  a  single  complete  copy  is  now  to  be  found,  prove  the 
extreme  popularity  which  the  works  of  Hans  Sachs  enjoyed  during 
the  life  of  the  poet.  He  possessed  n  tural  talent  of  the  highest 
order;  and  though  he  did  not  pass  through  a  course  of  classic  study, 
yet  by  dint  of  rpading,  he  acquired  an  extensive  and  varied  stock  of 
information.  Rudeness,  negligence,  and  incorrectness  were  the 
faults  of  his  age,  but  the  most  distinguished  writers  of  the  present 
day,  among  others  Wieland  and  Goethe,  have  acknowledged  him  to 
be  a  genuine  poet,  full  of  nature  and  energy.  His  tales  and  bur- 
lesque dramas  exhibit  a  vast  deal  of  wit  and  humour.  He  would 
have  shone  with  brilliant  lustre,  had  he  lived  during  a  more  improv- 
ed period  of  German  literature.  Goëthe  has  raised  a  noble  monu- 
ment to  his  memory  in  his  poem  entitled — Explanation  of  an  old 
Engravirig,  representing  the  poetic  mission  of  Hans  Sachs.  However, 
notwithstanding  the  approbation  bestowed  upon  him  by  many  dis- 
tinguished men,  a  recent  proposal  to  publish  a  new  edition  of  his 
works  has  not  been  attended  with  success. 


SCHIEBELER,  (Daniel,)  was  born  at  Hamburgh  on  the  25th  of 
March,  1741  :  and  died  on  the  19th  of  August,  1771.    From  his 


iilOGUAFHlCAL  NOTICES. 


boyhood  he  was  a  passionate  lover  of  romance,  poetry,  and  music. 
He  composed  several  operas,  amons;  others,  one  entitled,  Lisuartand 
Dariolette,  which  is  an  imitation  of  Favart's  Fée  Urgelle.  He  is  also 
the  author  of  cantatas  and  romances  full  of  grace  and  feeling. 

SCHLEGEL,  (John  Elias,)  was  born  on  the  28th  of  January, 
1718,  at  Meissen  in  Saxony,  and  died  on  the  13th  of  August,  1741, 
fifteen  years  before  the  birth  of  Goethe.    Schlegel's  taste  was  formed 
in  the  school  of  the  ancients  ;  and  he  may  be  regarded  as  the  founder 
of  tragedy  in  Germany,  for  it  is  needles?  to  take  into  account  the  im- 
perfect productions  of  Hans  Sachs,  Andrew  Gryph,  and  Lohenstein. 
Schlegel  preferred  the  dramatic  system  of  the  French  to  that  of  the 
English  ;  hut  it  would  have  required  the  genius  of  Corneille  and 
Racine  to  have  naturalized  the  art  of  those  two  great  dramatists  in 
Germany.    Schlegel's  talent  was  of  the  secondary  order.  He  wanted 
the  creative  tire,  force  of  conception,  and  purity  of  taste,  requisite 
for  inventing  a  plot,  portraying  character,  penetrating  the  mind  of 
the  spectator  with  the  passions  that  animate  the  scene,  and  exciting 
and  maintaining  an  increasing  interest  to  the  close  of  a  dramatic  com- 
position.   His  dramas  are  deficient  in  warmth  and  energy  ;  and  he 
is  justly  reproached  for  languor  and  declamation.    His  best  tragedies, 
viz.  The  Women  of  Troy,  Jirmenius  and  Canute,  however,  possess 
considerable  beauties,  and  are  admired  for  pure  and  noble  diction, 
and  harmony  of  versification.    He  endeavoured  to  introduce  genuine 
comedy  into  Germany  ;  but  his  efforts  were  not  very  successful. 
However,  his  comedies  entitled  the  Dumb  Beauty,  and  the  Triumph 
of  Women,  surpassed  all  that  had  hitherto  been  produced  in  that 
st}  le,  and  obtained  the  approbation  of  Mendelssohn  and  Lessing. 

Schlegel  had  an  excellent  instructer  in  his  father  ;  and  filial  affec- 
tion induced  him  to  sacrifice,  for  the  space  of  four  years,  his  ardent 
taste  for  literature  to  the  desire  of  pleasing  his  parent  by  the  study  of 
the  law.  His  excellent  character  acquired  him  the  esteem  and  affec- 
tion of  Gellert.  He  resided  for  several  years  in  Denmark,  where 
he  became  acquainted  with  the  celebrated  Holberg,  and  he  had  just 
been  appointed  a  Professor  of  the  College  of  Soroe,  when  he  died. 

A  complete  collection  of  Schlegel's  works,  in  verse  and  prose, 
was  published  by  his  brother,  J.  H.  Schlegel,  with  a  life  of  the  author, 
at  Copenhagen  and  Leipsic,  in  1761  and  1771. 

SCHLOSSER,  (John  George,)  born  in  1739,  and  died  on  the  17th 
of  October,  1799,  at  Frarkfort  on  the  Maine.  He  was  the  country- 
man, the  friend,  and  brother-in-law  of  Goethe,  having  married  his 
sister  Cornelia.  As  a  lawyer,  a  magistrate,  a  philanthropist,  and  a 
political  writer,  his  upright  character,  his  zeal  for  the  public  good, 
as  well  as  his  information  and  talent,  rendered  him  an  object  of  uni- 
versal respect.  From  1787  to  1794  he  was  in  the  service  of  the 
Margrave  of  Baden,  in  the  quality  of  privy  counsellor  and  director 
of  the  court  of  justice  ;  but  he  renounced  his  functions  from  feelings 
of  delicacy,  because  he  could  not  succeed  in  establishing  a  law  which 
he  conceived  to  be  favourable  to  the  poorer  class  of  the  people. 
After  residing  for  two  vears  at  Eutus  in  Holslein.  he  was.  in  1798. 

Y  y 


354 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


appointed  syndic  of  his  native  city,  and  he  continued  to  exercise  the 
duties  of  this  post  until  his  death. 

Schlosser  wrote  a  great  deal  and  on  various. subjects  ;  and  he  was 
very  successful  as  a  translator  and  commentator  of  the  classics.  His 
writings  on  morality,  politics,  and  legislation,  are  highly  esteemed. 
His  most  celebrated  works  are  his  Moral  and  Religious  Catechisms  for 
Country  People,  which  have  been  highly  useful  to  the  classes  for 
which  they  were  intended.  His  collected  works,  in  6  vols.  8vo. 
were  published  at  Basle  and  Frankfort  in  1779-1794.  Schlosser  was 
a  diligent  contributor  to  the  most  esteemed  journals  that  were  pub- 
lished during  his  life. 

His  brother,  Jeremiah  Schlosser,  was  a  distinguished  lawyer. 

Another  brother,  John  Ludwig  Schlosser,  who  was  a  clergyman, 
was  born  at  Hamburgh  on  the  20th  of  October,  1738.  He  is  the 
author  of  several  plays,  one  of  which,  entitled  the  Duel,  has  been 
very  successful. 

SPALDING,  (John  Joachim,)  was  born  at  Triebsees,  in  Swedish 
Pomerania^co  the  1st  of  November,  1714,  and  died  at  the  age  of 
ninety  on  the  26th  of  May,  1804.  He  was  a  member  of  the  great 
consistory  of  Berlin,  and  one  of  the  most  distinguished  theologists 
and  preachers  in  Germany.  There  have  been  several  editions  of  his 
sermons,  of  which  the  latest  were  published  at  Berlin,  in  1775  and 
1777.  His  esteemed  workt  On  the  Destiny  of  Man,  has  been  trans- 
lated into  French  by  Queen  Elizabeth  of  Prussia.  Spalding's  Thoughts 
on  the  Merit  of  Sentiment  in  Christianity,  were  not  less  successful, 
Spalding  was  the  friend  of  Lavater,  whom  he  regarded  as  his  mas- 
ter. He  was  also  intimate  with  Sulzer,  and  many  other  celebrated 
men. 

STOLBERG.  (Christian  Count  Von,)  was  born  at  Hamburgh  on 
the  15th  of  October,  1748.  Pie  was  the  elder  of  two  brothers, 
distinguished  for  their  talent,  their  zeal  for  the  advancement  of 
German  literature,  and  their  association  during  and  after  their  college 
studies  at  Gottingen,  with  their  distinguished  fellow-students,  Voss, 
Miller,  Overbeck,  Hahn,  Clossen,  Hoelty,  Boie,  Burger,  &c.  Count 
Christian  is  chamberlain  to  the  King  of  Denmark,  and  has  resided, 
since  the  year  1800,  at  his  estate  of  Wyndebic,  near  Er.kernfoerde. 
in  Holstein. 

The  two  counts  Von  Stolberg  enjoy  the  merit  of  having  contribu- 
ted from  their  early  youth,  to  promote  the  advancement  of  German 
literature,  and  to  diffuse  among  their  countrymen  a  taste  for  the  study 
of  the  great  poets  of  Greece.  If  Count  Christian  be  inferior  to  his 
brother  in  boldness,  energy,  and  fire  of  imagination,  he  shares  with 
him  the  talent  for  glowing  description  and  harmonious  versification. 
He  particularly  excels  in  elegiac  composition,  and  in  the  inspirations 
of  delicate  sensibility  and  morality. 

The  principal  poetic  productions  of  Count  Christian  consist  of 
ballads,  elegies,  Anacreontic  odes,  two  tragedies  with  choruses,  enti- 
tled Balthazar,  and  Otanes,  in  which  the  narratives  and  pictures  of 
epic  poetry  are  introduced  on  the  stage  :  translations  of  Theocritus.. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


355 


Bion,  Moschus,  &c.  and  a  complete  translation  of  the  tragedies  of 
Sophocles  with  remarks  (2  vols.  8vo.  Leipsic,  1787.) 

STOLBERG,  (Frederick  Leopold  Count  Von,)  was  born  on  the 
7th  of  November,  1750,  at  Bramsted,  a  town  in  Holstein.  In  1777 
he  was  appointed  minister  plenipotentiary  of  the  prince  bishop  of 
Lubeck  at  Copenhagen,  and  in  1789  he  left  Denmark  for  Berlin. 
In  the  year  1791  he  was  created  president  of  the  administration  at 
Eutin,  and  in  1797  he  was  invested  with  the  Russian  order  of  Saint 
Alexander  Newsky.  He  resigned  his  situation  in  1800,  when, 
with  all  his  family,  except  his  eldest  daughter,  he  renounced  pro- 
testantism, and  embraced  Catholicism.  He  has  since  resided  at  Mun- 
ster. 

If  inspiration,  enthusiasm,  and  boldness  of  imagination — if  force 
and  energy,  enlightened  by  a  perfect  feeling  for  the  beauties  of  the 
classic  authors — if  lively  emotions  of  the  heart  and  passions,  painted 
in  the  colours  of  nature  and  truth,  are  the  essential  attributes  of  the 
poetic  character,  Count  Frederick  Leopold  Von  Stolberg  may  claim 
a  place  among  the  most  distinguished  poets  of  Germany.  He  is  not 
exempt  from  rudeness,  intemperance,  and  occasional  wildness  of 
imagination  ;  and  he  is,  perhaps,  sometimes  too  lavish  of  the  brilliant 
colours  of  his  pallet.  However,  his  merits  fully  counterbalance  his 
defects.  He  has  translated  Ossian  and  Homer.  Though  Bodmer 
may  have  succeeded  better  in  preserving  the  exquisite  simplicity  of 
the  father  of  poetry,  yet  the  spirit  of  the  Greek  muse,  the  heroic 
manners,  the  divine  fire  that  animate  the  bard  of  Greece,  are  more 
accurately  conveyed  in  the  vivid  imitation  of  the  Count  Von  Stolberg. 
The  spirit  of  a  true  poet  beams  through  all  his  compositions.  He 
was  equally  successful  in  the  composition  of  odes,  songs,  elegies, 
ballads,  and  romances.  For  loftiness  of  ideas,  sentiments,  and  ex- 
pression, his  hymns  resemble  those  of  Orpheus.  His  romance,  en- 
titled The  Happy  Island,  in  which  political  views  are  invested  with 
the  charms  of  the  golden  age  ;  his  Translations  of  several  of  the  Tra- 
gedies of  JEschylus;  his  Travels  in  Germany,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and 
Sicily;  his  Satirical  and  Dramatic  Poems  ;  in  short,  every  produc- 
tion of  his  pen  bears  the  impress  of  superior  genius  and  talent.  The 
least  esteemed  of  all  his  works  is  his  translation  of  some  of  Plato's 
Dialogues,  which  is  executed  on  a  whimsical  plan.  The  translator 
has  been  led  into  the  affectation  of  employing  obsolete  words  and 
phrases,  and  terms  of  his  own  introduction.  Since  his  conversion  to 
Catholicism,  Count  Frederick  Von  Stolberg  has  published  translations 
of  St.  Augustine,  and  a  History  of  the  Life  and  Faith  of  Christ.  These 
works,  and  the  circumstances  which  prompted  their  undertaking, 
have  given  rise  to  many  writings  in  which  the  motives  and  opinions 
of  the  neophyte  have  been  freely  canvassed  ;  but  the  character  of 
Count  Stolberg  has  issued  spotless  from  every  trial. 

SULZER,  (John  George,)  was  born  on  the  16th  of  October,  1720, 
at  Wintherthur,  in  the  canton  of  Zurich,  and  died  at  Berlin,  on  25th 
of  February,  1779. 

Sulzer  was  gifted  with  the  enlarged, methodical,and  shrewd  powers 
of  mind,  which  maybe  regarded  as  the  general  characteristics  of  the 
writers  of  the  Swiss  school.  He  embraced  a  wide  sphere  of  intellectual 


356 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


attainments.  He  wrote  on  natural  and  speculative  philosophy,  ma- 
thematics, the  fine  arts,  and  literature  ;  but  particularly  on  morality 
and  education,  objects  to  which  he  devoted  the  chief  portion  of  hi&life. 
He  was  the  founder  of  the  Gymnasium  at  Mittau  ;  and,  by  his  assi- 
duous inspection  he  meliorated  the  establishments  of  education  in 
Prussia.  He  was  honoured  with  the  confidence  and  esteem  of  Fre- 
derick the  Great. 

Sulzer's  most  important  work  is  hi?  General  Theory,  or  more  pro- 
perly ,  Universal  Dictionary  of  Polite  Literature  and  the  Fine  Arts.  It 
is  a  sort  of  encyclopedia,  of  which  La  Combe's  Dictionary  suggested 
the  idea:  it  was  published  in  4  vols.  8vo.  atLeipsic,  in  1792 — 1794. 
The  object  of  the  author  was  to  consider  every  branch  of  literature 
and  the  arts  with  reference  to  their  origin,  their  real  nature,  and  their 
moral  object,  for  the  improvement  of  mankind.  His  intention  was 
to  produce  a  complete  theory  of  iEsthetics,  adopting  the  alphabetic 
order,  as  Marmontel  has  done  in  his  Elements  of  Literature.  Though 
man}'  of  his  articles  leave  much  to  be  wished  for,  and  though,  since 
Sulzer's  time  great  progress  has  been  made  in  the  theory  of  the 
beautiful  in  every  class,  yet  the  work  still  enjoys  well-deserved 
esteem  for  its  excellent  views,  solidity  of  doctrine,  shrewdness  of 
observation,  and  the  light  which  it  throws  on  many  points.  The 
work  was  completed  by  Frederick  Von  Blankenburgh,  in  3  vols.  8vo. 
Leipsic,  1796 — 1798.  Blankenburgh's  edition  of  Sulzer's  work 
with  the  continuation  is  much  approved  of:  it  contains  a  life  of  Sul- 
zer. 

Among  the  numerous  works  of  the  latter  writer,  the  most  cele- 
brated are  his  Philosophic  Miscellanies,  2  vols.  Leipsic,  1780-81  ; 
his  Moral  Conversations  and  Considerations  on  the  Beauty  of  Nature, 
Berlin,  1774;  his  Thoughts  on  Education,  Zurich,  1748;  and  the 
Account  of  his  Journey  in  the  South  of  Europe  in  1775  and  1776,  8vo. 
Leipsic,  1780.  This  last  work  is  mentioned  by  Goethe  in  his  Me- 
moirs. 

THUMMEL, (Moritz  Augustus  Von,)  was  born  on  the  27th  of  May, 
1738,  at  Schcenfeld  near  Leipsic.  He  was  the  second  son  of  one 
of  the  Electoral  Counsellors  of  Saxony.  When  the  Prussian  troops 
invaded  Saxony  in  the  year  1745,  Von  ThiimmePs  patrimonial  estate 
was  plundered  ;  and  this  so  reduced  the  circumstances  of  the  family, 
that  they  were  obliged  to  sell  the  property.  Moritz  Von  Thummel 
entered  upon  the  study  of  philosophy  in  the  year  1754,  at  Rossleben 
in  Thuringen.  About  the  end  of  the  year  1756  he  entered  the 
University  of  Leipsic.  Gellert  was  his  favourite  instructer,  and 
with  him  he  continued  on  a  footing  of  friendship  until  his  death. 
While  pursuing  his  studies  at  Leipsic,  Thummel  formed  an  acquaint- 
ance with  Weisse,  Rabener,  and  Kleist  ;  and  here  he  was  also  for- 
tunate enough  to  win  the  regard  of  an  old  lawyer,  n^med  Balz,  who, 
at  his  death,  left  him  a  considerable  property.  In  the  year  1761, 
having  finished  his  studies  at  college,  he  entered  the  service  of  the 
hereditary  Prince  Ernest  Frederick  of  Saxe-Coburg.  The  prince, 
on  succeeding  to  the  government,  appointed  Thummel  his  Privy 
Court  Counsellor  ;  and  in  1768  he  was  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Privy 
Counsellor  and  Minister.    These  posts  he  filled  until  the  year  1783, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


357 


when  he  retired  from  public  business.  He  has  since  resided  partly 
at  Gotha  and  partly  at  his  wife's  estate  at  Sonneborn.  He  has  also 
travelled  to  different  parts  of  Europe. 

Von  Thummel's  most  celebrated  productions  are  :  Wilhelmina, 
which  appeared  in  1764.  The  French  translation,  by  Huber,  was 
published  at  Leipsic  in  1769.  The  Inoculation  for  Love,  published  in 
1771.  Travels  in  the  South  of  France  from  1791  to  1805.  Thiim- 
mels  principal  works  were  all  published  at  Leipsic. 

VAN  HELMONT,  (John  Baptist.)  born  in  1577  at  Brussels,  and 
died  in  Holland  on  the  30th  of  December.  1644.  He  was  celebrated 
for  his  vast  knowledge  of  natural  history,  medicine,  and  chymistry. 
His  learning  appeared  so  extraordinary,  that  according  to  the  super- 
stitious notions  of  the  age,  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  sorcerer,  and  he 
was  thrown  into  prison  by  the  Inquisition.  He  was,  however,  fortu- 
nate enough  to  escape  from  captivity,  and  he  took  refuge  in  Holland. 
Like  Paracelsus,  he  pretended  to  have  discovered  a  panacea,  and  he 
performed  cures  which  appeared  to  be  miraculous,  by  the  employ- 
ment of  violent  remedies  in  chronic  diseases,  which  were  effectual 
on  robust  constitutions.  The  most  complete  edition  of  his  works  is 
that  published  at  Frankfort  in  1707. 

His  son  Francis  Mercurius  Van  Helmont,  was  born  in  1618,  and 
died  at  Cologne  on  the  Spree  in  1699.  He  was  >upposed  to  have 
discovered  the  philosopher's  stone,  because  he  lived  man  expensive 
style  on  a  scanty  income.  Leibnitz  wrote  an  epitaph  upon  him,  in 
which  he  assigns  him  a  place  among  the  most  distinguished  philoso- 
phers. Van  Helmont  is  the  author  of  several  theological  and  philo- 
sophic works.  The  celebrated  book,  entitled  Seder  Olam,  is  attribu- 
ted to  him.    He  was  a  believer  in  the  metempsychosis. 

VOSS,  (John  Henry,)  was  born  on  the  20th  of  February,  1751, 
at  Summersdorf  in  Mecklenburg.  He  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
poets  of  Germany,  and  was  a  distinguished  member  of  the  society  of 
worshippers  of  the  Muses  formed  at  Gottingen  at  the  period  of 
Goethe's  youth.  Voss  has  resided  a  considerable  time  at  Jena  and 
at  Heidelberg.  He  is  the  author  of  lyric  and  bucolic  poems  and 
fables,  and  has  translated  Homer,  Hesiod,  Virgil,  and  Ovid  into  verse. 
In  his  translation  of  Homer  he  has  proved  himself  a  successful  rival 
of  Count  Frederick  Von  Stolb^rg.  His  Prosody  of  the  German  Lan- 
guage ;  his  Inquiries  concerning  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Homer  ;  and 
his  Commentary  on  the  Georgics,  are  full  of  able  criticism.  See  the 
edition  of  his  poem,  entitled  Louisa,  published  at  Konigsburg  in  1802; 
the  four  volumes  of  his  Poems,  Konigsburg,  1802  ;  the  four  volumes 
of  his  Translation  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  Altona,  1793,  &c. 

WEISSE,  (Christian  Felix,)  was  born  at  Annaburg  in  Erzgebirge 
on  the  28th  of  January,  1726. died  on  the  1 6th  of  December,  1804, 
at  the  age  of  79.  He  was  Receiver  of  the  Taxes  in  the  circle  of 
Leipsic.  He  bore  an  excellent  character,  and  was  the  friend  of  many 
of  ihe  celebrated  writers  of  bis  time.  If  he  cannot  be  ranked  among 
writers  of  the  first-rate  talent,  he  at  least  may  be  considered  as  a 
diligent  and  esteemed  author.    He  has  written  dramas,  operas,  lyric 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


poems,  the  lives  of  illustrious  literary  men,  &c.  But  what  chiefly 
procured  him  the  approbation  and  regard  of  his  countrymen,  was  his 
collection  entitled  The  Children's  Friend,  to  the  imitation  and  even 
the  translation  of  which  Berquin  and  Bonneville  have  in  many  in- 
stances confined  themselves,  and  by  which,  among  the  French,  the 
first  of  those  two  writers  obtained  as  much  popularity  as  the  original 
author.  Weisse  translated  many  works  from  tht  English  and  French, 
He  actively  co-operated  in  the  management  of  the  literary  journals 
of  his  time. 

WÏELAND,  (Christopher  Martin,)  was  born  on  the  5th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1733,  at  Biberach  in  Swabia.  He  is  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished men  that  Germany  has  produced,  being  at  once  a  critic,  a 
philosopher,  a  poet,  and  a  writer  of  romance.  His  learning  and 
taste  are  admirably  developed  in  his  varied  compositions.  His 
poems  and  romances  bear  a  resemblance  to  the  works  of  Lucian, 
Voltaire,  and  Ariosto,  still  preserving  the  author's  national  character. 
Most  of  Wieland's  romances,  for  example,  —  Agathon,  Mademoiselle 
VonSternheim,  Aristiprtus,  Diogenes,  Socrates  out  of  his  senses,  the  Ab- 
derites.  Peregrinus  Proteus.  4,-c,  have  been  translated  either  into 
French  or  English.  Peregrinus  Proteus  is  very  remarkable  as  afford- 
ing a  picture  of  the  first  progress  of  Christianity,  and  it  developes  the 
author's  deep  study  into  the  primitive  ages  of  the  Christian  era. 
Wieland's  Oberon  is  very  popular  in  Germany  :  its  energetic,  harmo- 
nious, and  elegant  diction  renders  it  exceedingly  pleasing  in  the  ori- 
ginal. A  translation  can  give  but  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  it.  His 
Mus.rrion,  or  the  Philosophy  oj  the  Graces,  is  also  much  admired.  The 
prmcipal  tales  or  poems  which  Wieland  has  imitated  from  the  Greek, 
or  from  tales  ot  chivalry  are  : — Idris,  Endymion,  Ganymede,  the  Judg- 
ment oj  Paris,  Gandalin,  Gerion  le  Courtois,  and  the  new  Amadis. 
His  translations  of  Lucian,  the  Letters  of  Cicero,  and  the  Epistles  and 
Satires  of  Horace,  are  excellent  ;  the  historical  and  critical  commen- 
taries which  accompany  Wieland's  translation  of  Horace  are  master- 
pieces of  erudition,  criticism,  and  taste* 

WINCKELMANN,  (John,)  the  only  son  of  a  poor  shoemaker, 
was  born  on  the  9th  of  Der^mber,  1717,  a!  Stendal,  in  the  Old  Marche 
of  Brandenburgh,  and  was  assassinated  at  Trieste  on  the  8th  of  June, 
1768.  He  had  to  stru^ule  with  great  misery  before  he  was  enabled 
to  finish  his  studies,  and  to  attain  the  celebrity  his  taste, his  knowledge, 
and  hi*  talents  merited.  Winekelm-inn  had  to  sustain  long  and  severe 
trial*  of  adversity,  in  common  with  many  men  of  distinguished  t;dent 
in  Germ  my, and  among  others  with  his  illustrious  countryman  Heyne, 
with  whom  he  became  acquainted  at  Dresden,  where  they  studied 
together  the  monuments  of  ancient  art.  Winckelmann  was  long  en- 
gaged in  employments  very  inferior  to  his  talent,  in  order  to  provide 
for  his  father,  and  his  filial  piety  is  certainly  not  his  least  claim  on  the 
esteem  of  mankind.  Under  the  protection  of  Count  Von  Bunan,  he 
at  length  devoted  himself  to  his  much  loved  studies,  and  followed  the 
impulse  of  his  genius.  The  protection  of  the  apostolic  nuncio 
Archinto,  was  not  less  useful  to  him.  He  travelled  to  Rome,  and 
passed  many  years  in  different  parts  of  Italy.    He  was  preparing  to 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICES. 


359 


return  to  Germany,  and  had  travelled  as  far  as  Vienna,  when  not 
far  from  Trieste,  he  met  with  a  person  going  the  same  road,  whose 
manners  and  conversation  indicated  a  taste  for  the  arts,  and  who 
thus  succeeded  in  gaining  his  confidence.  Winckelmann,  the  least 
suspicious  man  in  the  world,  showed  him  his  collection  of  medals, 
the  presents  he  had  received  at  Vienna,  and  his  purse,  which  was 
pretty  well  filled.  This  villain,  who  was  named  Francesco  Arch- 
angeli,  was  a  native  of  Pistoia,  in  Tuscany.  He  had  been  cook 
to  Count  Cotaldo,  at  Vienna  :  had  been  condemned  to  death  for  the 
commission  of  several  crimes,  and  afterward  pardoned.  Tempted  by 
the  sight  of  the  gold  displayed  by  his  travelling  companion,  he  enter- 
ed  the  chamber  of  Winckelmann,  under  the  pretence  of  taking  leave 
of  him,  and  asked  once  more  for  a  sight  of  his  medals.  While  Winckel- 
mann was  opening  bis  box,  he  stabbed  him  several  times  with  a 
dagger,  and  would  have  murdered  his  victim  on  the  spot,  but  some 
one  knocking  at  the  door,  put  the  assassin  îo  flight,  without  his  hav- 
ing appropriated  any  of  the  valuables  which  had  led  him  to  perpetrate 
the  horrible  act.  Winckelmann  survived  seven  hours,  and  during 
that  time  dictated  his  will,  which  he  did  with  great  presence  of  mind. 
To  this  celebrated  man  we  are  indebted  for  marfy  new  ideas  on  the 
imitative  arts  of  the  ancients,  and  excellent  descriptions  of  antique 
monuments.  His  History  of  Ancient  Art  is  well  known  :  it  has  been 
translated  into  English,  as  well  as  French  and  Italian.  This  work 
was  received  with  enthusiasm,  and  is  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the 
best  in  its  kind  that  has  ever  been  written.  It  was  first  printed  after 
the  death  of  Winckelmann.  The  original  manuscript  is  stained  with 
his  blood  ;  for  he  was  occupied  in  revising  it,  when  his  assassin 
inflated  the  mortal  wound.  Winckelmann  was  a  man  of  ardent 
mind,  and  he  was  often  roused  to  excessive  enthusiasm.  He  was 
also  frequently  governed  by  self  love,  and  was  so  bold  and  decided 
in  argument  as  sometimes  to  excite  the  uneasiness  of  his  friends. 
He  was  full  of  honesty,  frankness,  and  sincerity,  and  was  faithful  in 
his  friendships.  "I  am,"  said  he,  "  like  a  wild  plant:  my  growth 
has  been  fostered  only  by  the  hand  of  Nature."  An  el«gy  has  been 
written  on  Winckelmann,  by  his  celebrated  friend  Hey  ne. 

ZACHARÏA,  (Justus-Frederick-William,)  was  born  at  Franken 
hausen  in  Thuringen,  on  the  1st  of  May*  1726  ;  and  died  at  Bruns- 
wick on  the  30th  of  January,  1777,  at  the  age  of  51.  Zacharia 
was  one  of  the  celebrated  poets  of  the  early  German  school.  He 
possessed  richness  and  brilliancy  of  imagination,  grace,  and  sensibi- 
lity. It  has  been  remarked  that  his  style  is  occasionally  slovenly, 
feeble,  and  te  dious.  His  mock  heroic  poems,  entitled  the  Kenommist, 
Phaeton,  he.  have  acquired  great  reputation.  He  wrote  m.i  .y  poems 
in  that  style  :  his  Four  Parts  of  the  Day,  amidst  a  mass  of  common 
and  worn-out  descriptions,  contain  many  real  beauties.  Perhaps  his 
most  charming  poem  is  that  entitled  The  Four  Ages  of  Woman,  a  bad 
imitation  of  which,  in  French  verse,  was  inserted  at  the  time  of  the 
publication  of  the  original  in  a  public  Journal,  and  improperly  attri- 
buted to  Wieland.  There  is  also  a  collection  of  lyric  poems  bv 
Zacharia  ;  but  his  songs,  of  which  the  most  popular  is  The  Sleeping 
Girl,  greatly  excel  his  odes.  His  collected  works  have  been  pub- 
imbed  in  nine  volumes. 


366 


3] ©GRAPHIC AL  NOTICES 


ZIMMERMANN,  (John  George  Von,)  was  born  at  brugg  in  the 
canton  of  Bern  in  Switzerland,  on  the  28th  of  December,  1728,  and 
died  on  the  7th  of  October,  1795.  He  was  physician  to  the  Elec- 
tor of  Hanover,  and  he  published  some  excellent  books  on  medicine 

and  o'her  subjects.      The  most  celebrated  are  those  entitled  

On  Medical  Experience,  and  On  Solitude.  Zimmermann  also  wrote 
several  poems  ;  and  he  is  the  author  of  the  following  works  on 
Frederick  of  Prussia  : — viz.  On  Frederick  the  Great,  and  my  Con- 
versation with  Him  shortly  before  his  Death.  Leipsic,  1788,  8vo. — 
A  Defence  of  Frederick  the  Great  against  Count  Mirabeau,  1788,  in 
8vo.  -  Fragments  on  Frederick  the  Great. — On  the  History  of  his  Lifet 
his  Government,  and  his  Character  ;  in  three  parts.  Leipsic,  1790, 
in  8vo.  Zimmermann  studied  medicine  at  Gottingen,  under  Haller  ; 
in  Holland  under  Gaubius  ;  and  at  Paris  with  Senac.  An  account  of 
his  life  has  been  written  by  his  friend  Tissot. 

Z1NZENDORF,  (Nicolas  Lewis  Count  Von,)  was  born  on  the 
26th  of  May,  1700,  at  Dresden,  and  died  on  the  9th  of  May,  1760, 
at  Hernhuth.  His  father  was  Privy  Counsellor  and  Chamberlain  to 
the  Elector  of  Saxony.  The  pious  zeal  of  Count  Zinzendorf 
prompted  him  to  undertake  a  reform  of  religion,  by  bringing  back 
his  followers  to  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  true  meaning  of  the 
Goxpel,  and  the  forms  of  the  primitive  church.  With  equal  ardour 
and  perseverance  he  devoted  his  whole,  life  to  this  object;  in  the 
furtherance  of  which  he  several  times  travelled  over  Europe  and 
America  ;  having  previously  renounced  the  functions  of  Court 
Counsellor  and  Counsellor  of  Justice  at  Dresden,  and  left  his  pro- 
perty to  the  management  of  his  wife,  who  shared  his  zeal.  He 
engaged  himself  as  a  teacher  in  a  family  at  Stralsund,  where  he 
preached  as  a  theologist  ;  he  underwent  an  examination  at  Berlin, 
and  was  appointed  Bishop  of  the  Moravian  Brethren  of  Bohemia. 
He  was  imprisoned  in  Russia,  where  he  had  endeavoured  to  esta- 
blish a  Moravian  church,  and  banished  from  that  empire.  He  gene- 
rally resided  in  Upper  Lusatia,  on  his  estates  of  Bertholdsdorf  and 
Hernhuth.  From  the  latter  place  the  Moravians  take  one  of  the 
names  by  which  they  are  commonly  known,  viz.  Hernhuthers. 

The  sect,  of  which  Count  Zinzendorf  is  considered  as  the  founder, 
has  been  subject  to  serious'accusations  ;  but  the  most  credible  testi- 
mony represents  the  Moravians  as  a  society  guided  by  sincere  piety, 
and  remarkable  for  the  practice  of  virtue. 

Among  the  literary  labours  of  Zinzendorf  are — A  Translation  of 
the  New  Testament.^  Secret  Correspondence  with  the  Inspired,  Frank- 
fort, 1741. — The  Psalms  for  the  Use  of  the  Community  of  Moravian 
Brethren,  and  the  German  Socrates. 

The  Life  of  Count  Zinzendorf,  by  Augustus  Spangenberg,  appeared 
in  1777. 


THE  END. 


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